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June 2006
Mazzone not appreciated enough
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
The absolutely disgusting venom for Leo Mazzone was there Friday night at Turner Field, but it was invisible. A couple of Braves exchanged warm hugs with Mazzone during batting practice in the left-field corner. Bobby Cox never saw his old pitching coach of 15 seasons before the game after sauntering toward the visitors’ dugout, but he told Baltimore Orioles manager Sam Perlozzo that he’d catch up with Mazzone later.
There also were all of those cheers from the choppers and the chanters for Mazzone when he walked down the left-field line to see Orioles starting pitcher Daniel Cabrera warming in the bullpen.
Mazzone was visibly moved. “If you don’t think I feel awkward sitting (in the visitors’ dugout), I do,” said Mazzone, fighting misty eyes. He was a significant force behind the Braves’ 14 consecutive division titles, five pennants and world championship, but he was justified after last season to leave town for a lot of pennies to join Perlozzo, his best friend, in Baltimore. “We have a chance to build something, and we have some building blocks, speaking from the pitching end only, and it’s been great. Not that I don’t miss the other side.”
The question is: Does the other side miss Mazzone?
That’s debatable.
Actually, it’s not. At best when you mention Mazzone among those with tomahawks across their chests, indifference reigns. That was underscored by many of his former coworkers keeping their distance Friday. Although Mazzone is the greatest pitching coach ever, his personality is sort of, well, let the Orioles’ Javy Lopez tell it. “Just like that guy on ‘American Idol,’ ” said Lopez, the former Braves catcher, laughing, while comparing Mazzone, the former Braves pitching coach, to Simon Cowell, the owner of a famously blunt tongue. Added Lopez, of Mazzone or Cowell, “You don’t like him, but you know what? He’s honest.”
Yes, Mazzone is. We’re talking brutally honest, which is the hallmark of those from Knute Rockne to Vince Lombardi to Pat Riley — you know, winners. Still, when Mazzone left for Baltimore, there was either silence or glee around the Braves’ clubhouse. Said Mazzone, rolling his eyes as he moved before the game along the tunnel from the visiting dugout to the Orioles clubhouse, “I’m not surprised to hear anything in this game. To me, it’s really not that big of deal.”
It’s not as big as the Braves’ ERA, for instance. Or that of the Orioles, for that matter. While the Braves’ pitching has imploded since Mazzone left with a resume that featured his Atlanta staff finishing either first or second in the majors in ERA for 12 seasons, the Orioles came to town with their pitchers walking more folks than anybody and owning the second-worst ERA in the American League.
In this one, the Orioles’ pitching was slightly worse than that of the Braves during a 5-3 defeat. So, to hear the Leo Bashers tell it, the whole thing regarding Mazzone’s departure and the arrival of new pitching coach Roger McDowell is a wash. They wish to believe that Mazzone’s effectiveness in Atlanta was the result of Cy Maddux, Cy Glavine and Cy Smoltz instead of the other way around.
Whatever. Mazzone is only midway through his first year in Baltimore with a new system, and he hasn’t the Orioles of Palmer, McNally, Cuellar and Dobson. Even so, Lopez said the Orioles’ ugly pitching numbers are frauds. “If you compare this to the previous two years, you see the progress, because Leo is helping the pitchers keep us in games,” Lopez said. “He wants what he wants, and his temper is what makes him who he is. It definitely is getting results, because you see that the pitchers are going in a straight line.”
Or else. Before the game, Mazzone leaned forward in the visitor’s dugout to get a better view of what stretched high above the bleachers in left-center field. “I want to make sure that my pitchers look at those pennant flags,” he said, with a wide smile that kept growing. “I want them to see them, because that’s what it’s all about.”
Then Mazzone thought about Cox, the Braves manager that he rocked next to in dugouts around the majors. Once, he told me that Cox was like his second father. “I’m going to wear dark sunglasses tonight,” Mazzone said. “That way I can peak over there during the game at one of the greatest men I met in my life.”
Too bad more in the Braves world don’t relish the greatest coach (pitching or otherwise) they’ll ever have.
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Hawks need identity, image change
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
With eight, nine, 147 or whatever amount of guys that the Hawks have at the top of their flow chart, and with one among that group suing the others to take control of the franchise, the ownership situation is a bad reality show. Home crowds have finished in the bottom two in NBA attendance during each of the last five seasons. Not coincidentally, the Hawks haven’t reached the playoffs after any of those years.
So this was typical: Those who decide such things for the Hawks placed team icon Dominique Wilkins in the awkward position of announcing their pick in this year’s NBA draft. Let’s just say that the 1,200 or so folks in Philips Arena for the Hawks’ draft party didn’t respond to the Human Highlight Film as if he had slammed over Air Jordan when he used “Shelden Williams” and “pick” in the same sentence.
Boooooo. Among other things, the Hawks are tone deaf to the public’s overwhelming disdain for most things they do. Said Michael Gearon Jr., among those 487 or so Hawks owners, “You know, image is important, but what matters more to me is the conviction that a person has. What matters more to me about Billy [Knight, the Hawks’ general manager] is that he has great character along with courage, and what you see is what you get.”
What the majority of those see away from Hawks ownership and management is a franchise that has surpassed the Los Angeles Clippers as the league’s clumsiest. There is the problem for the Hawks, and then you have the symptoms, exemplified by what remains of their fan base wishing to dangle Knight over the edge of Philips Arena by his toes for drafting another forward.
Before we continue, goodness knows that the Hawks need a point guard as much as they do a better sense (or any sense) of public relations when it comes to the basketball side. Even so, Williams actually was a decent pick in a draft that featured 19 other teams doing a fast break in the first round past Marcus Williams, supposedly this year’s best point guard.
It’s just that, at this point in the Hawks’ existence, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had drafted the combination of Magic Johnson and Oscar Robertson. Perception trumps reality, and despite a new regime for the Hawks during the past two years that has changed an old, boring team into a young, entertaining one with a slew of bold moves, much of the public still views those running the Hawks as clueless.
Which brings us to the two-fold problem: The Hawks really are clueless when it comes to trying (and wanting) to change their image and using the talent they’ve collected. And, yes, the Hawks do have talent. Said Gearon, an Atlanta native, who is among the few who have hugged the Hawks forever, “Unfortunately, this isn’t a town where you have that many knowledgeable Hawks fans, and when you hear about all of these people that the Hawks have drafted through the years [Ed Gray, Priest Lauderdale, Cal Bowdler], although we didn’t have anything to do with it, they associate us with that regime. I think that’s unfortunate. I’m not aware of any sports team or business where you turn a situation like this around immediately.”
Well, there was at least one, and it involved … the Hawks.
See if this sounds familiar: A Hawks team with an ugly ownership situation, a management group that decided to implode a veteran roster and go with youth, a franchise that hadn’t reached the playoffs in five years. Those were the Hawks of the mid-1970s that Hubie Brown inherited. That said, they went from a 31-51 record during Brown’s first year to advancing to the playoffs the next along the way to becoming a consistent NBA force.
“Every great team, no matter what the sport, has a distinct style of play,” said Brown, who still lives in Atlanta and spends his time as a basketball analyst for national television. “We played 10 guys a quarter, and we had a pressing, trapping style for 48 minutes. It was the quickest team that I ever coached, and when I went to Memphis, we did the same thing. We moved nine guys between years one and two and up to the trade deadline, because there was a distinct style of play that we wanted.”
Brown paused, adding, “With the Hawks, what is their style of play?”
Don’t know. Thus the second part of the Hawks’ problem.
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Knight doesn’t get the point
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
New York — Not that there was ever much doubt, but Wednesday’s Round 2 made it official. Billy Knight doesn’t care one whit what his constituency thinks or wants. As if taking yet another forward in Round 1 wasn’t enough, Knight spent his second-round pick on …
Yet another forward.
It would have done no harm — and might have done much good — to have taken a chance on Dee Brown, the scrawny Illinois point guard, or Guillermo Diaz, the swift Miami combo guard, with the draft’s 33rd pick. Even if the Hawks sign a veteran point guard over the summer — and that’s a big “if,” given the convoluted issue of team ownership — they’ll still need a younger guy to bring along behind him. (Or so you’d think.) But the Hawks, once again, acted as if a point guard is last on their list of concerns.
Maybe Solomon Jones of South Florida is the next Kevin Garnett, but I kind of doubt it. And I doubt that a team still lacking a point guard is going to be transformed by the addition of two more power forwards.
And I doubt fans are going to Rise Up to support this woebegone team on the strength — more precisely, the weakness — of the 2006 draft.
And one last thing about Shelden Williams: I think he’ll be a good NBA player, but at this time with that pick he was the wrong choice.
Same as Marvin Williams a year ago. Same as it ever was.
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Nothing bold about this pick
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
New York — Billy Knight didn’t take a point guard, nor did he take the best available athlete. Knight, for reasons known only to him, instead drafted an undersized center who will be a capable NBA player but never an All-Star. With the No. 5 pick, Knight chose Shelden Williams.
A month ago, Knight insisted the Hawks weren’t yet in a position to draft according to positional need, but what was this pick if not an attempt to address the certain loss of Al Harrington? What was this if not a half-measure for a team that is, under its blunt and self-assured GM, supposed to be painting only in bold strokes? What’s bold about Shelden Williams?
He isn’t a point guard, like Marcus Williams (who inexplicably lasted until the 22rd pick). He isn’t a combo guard, like Brandon Roy and Randy Foye (who went just after Shelden Williams). He isn’t even another of Knight’s beloved swingmen, like Rudy Gay (who went just after Foye). All those worthies were available to Knight, same as Chris Paul and Deron Williams and Raymond Felton were a year ago. Yet again, the Hawks have taken a lofty pick and selected someone who isn’t about to change the face of a franchise that could sorely use changing.
The nice thing about Shelden Williams is that he’s low-risk. He’ll do much as he did at Duke — clog the lane, chase rebounds, block some shots. The not-so-nice thing is that he has less of an upside than you want from a first-rounder, let alone a lottery pick. “I’m assuming they needed a rebounder, a banger,” Williams said Wednesday night. But are the long-suffering Hawks so far advanced that they can take a role player? And if they are, then why didn’t they take a point guard, a combo guard, any kind of guard?
“We think Shelden is a good basketball player,” Knight said, “but he fills a need for us also. We finished next-to-last in points scored against us in the paint; next-to-last in defensive rebounding, and last in 3-point plays against.”
Playing either power forward — and Williams, who’s listed as 6-foot-9 but appears 6-8 at most, has always considered himself a forward — or center, Williams will help upgrade those areas. But weren’t greater upgrades at hand? Wouldn’t Marcus Williams have put the Hawks’ many pieces in their rightful spots? Wouldn’t Roy or Foye have taken some of the ballhandling load off Joe Johnson? Wasn’t this the most curious of Knight’s picks to date?
Shelden Williams didn’t work out for the Hawks. (He did note, not incorrectly, that a lot of Duke games were televised.) But if you watched Williams at all as a collegian, you know he posted superb numbers against a conference that wasn’t laden with gifted bigger men. And Williams, who holds the reputation as an ace defender, yielded a surprising number of big performances to opponents like N.C. State’s Cedric Simmons (who outscored Williams 28-21) and Indiana’s Marco Killingsworth (34-13) and North Carolina’s Tyler Hansbrough (27-18). Even Luke Schenscher had some nice nights against the Landlord.
Williams won’t hurt the Hawks, but he won’t help in the way a No. 5 pick should. (Then again, Marvin Williams didn’t exactly dazzle as the No. 2 selection overall.) There were better investments to be found, maybe even a half-dozen. Knight didn’t find them. Knight keeps constructing a roster without really building a team.
This marks the fourth draft under this GM, and not once has Knight shot out the lights. Unless he can find a point guard in free agency, Knight will have again let an offseason pass without giving his many acquisitions a chance to better themselves. The Hawks were 26-56 last season. Add Shelden Williams. Subtract Al Harrington. Do you see a net gain? Do you see any reason to feel better about the Hawks today than yesterday? Do you see any heightened promise of a brighter tomorrow?
Me neither.
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Knicks owner’s ultimatum bold, refreshing
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
No question, Madison Square Garden chairman James Dolan will never go into the Sports Owner Hall of Fame. I mean, what do you expect from somebody who allowed his underlings to turn one of the premier NBA franchises into a joke?
That said, Dolan wasn’t playing the clown this week when he did the rarity of issuing an ultimate to one of those underlings and doing so bluntly and publicly.
After firing Larry Brown as head coach and giving Isiah Thomas the dual role of general manager and head coach, Dolan told Thomas that the New York Knicks have to make “significant” progress next season toward becoming a championship team or else Thomas is outta here. And Dolan did so with Thomas sitting nearby before flashing cameras and scribbling reporters from the suffocating New York media.
I love it. Given the big bucks involved with professional sports these days, more owners should demand such things under the brightest of spotlights.
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Italian is poster boy of wafer-thin draft
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
New York — The most intriguing player in a draft laden with intrigue has an upper torso that would be politely be described as scrawny. Hailed as the next Dirk Nowitzki, Andrea Bargnani makes the German look, by way of contrast, like Shaquille O’Neal.
Asked what he needs to develop most, Bargnani said Tuesday: “The body … the defense.” Asked what question he hears most from Italian fans, he said: “Usually people ask me why a big guy plays outside.”
He’s a skinny 7-footer who averaged 12 points a game for Benetton Treviso, the just-crowned Italian champion, and he stands the best chance of being the first player taken tonight. “From the things I’ve been hearing,” said Shelden Williams, believed to be ticketed for the Hawks, “it’ll be this kid Bargnani.” And the description, not to put too fine a point on it, was most apt.
LeBron James looked like a 30-year-old man as a high school senior. Bargnani, who’s 20, looks like he’s 17. He’s skilled but not strong, and he has no idea how powerful the guys who populate the NBA truly are. And if he’s most apt to go No. 1 overall, it tells us the 2006 draft is as thin as one of Bargnani’s arms.
Examples: When last LaMarcus Aldridge played a game, he was outscored 26-4 by LSU’s Glen Davis. When last Tyrus Thomas, who was Davis’ teammate, played a game, he was benched by his coach for a goodly chunk of the Final Four semifinal loss to UCLA. When last Rudy Gay and Hilton Armstrong and Marcus Williams played a game, those massively talented UConn Huskies couldn’t manage to beat George Mason. When last Adam Morrison played a game, he started crying.
Put simply, this isn’t the 1984 draft (Hakeem Olajuwon, Michael Jordan, Sam Perkins, Charles Barkley). This isn’t the 2003 draft (James, Carmelo Anthony, Chris Bosh, Dwyane Wade). This is one of the worst crops ever, which is why there’s no consensus among the teams who’ll do the drafting. They’re not so much concerned about who looks great as who looks less bad. And maybe that’s Bargnani, who’s the son of an insurance executive and an English teacher and who met the media Tuesday and spoke — Mama would’ve been proud — passable English.
What would he bring to the team that drafts him? “Maybe I can shoot the ball.” What will he try to develop? “The athletic coach will tell me what I need.” What’s the difference between the league he’s leaving and the one he’ll be joining? “The NBA has a lot of big athletes compared to European athletes.” And was that a legitimate penalty at the end of Italy’s World Cup match against Australia? “Yeah.”
He claimed to weigh 245 pounds, though that seems a trifle ambitious. He liked being in the Big Apple if no other reason that he could find clothes to fit. (Not many shops in Roma cater to 7-footers.) He could walk the streets here and be noticed but not really recognized, which wasn’t a whole lot different from home. “In Italy, soccer players get all the attention.”
Bargnani played an exhibition game two years ago in Toronto, and the Raptors hold the No. 1 pick. General manager Bryan Colangelo has already hired Maurizio Gherardini, who was the GM for Benetton Treviso, as his assistant, prompting speculation that Bargnani-to-Canada is a done deal. But nothing in this fluid draft seems a really done deal, apparently not even the much-rumored Williams-to-Atlanta tacit agreement. (Williams, for the record, said he has been promised nothing by the Hawks.)
And that, on Draft Eve, was where things stood: lots of teams looking for players, not many real players available. Andrea Bargnani might grow into a big-timer in three years, but he wouldn’t have dominated the SEC or the ACC. If he’s the No. 1 pick, it says more about the rest of the players in this draft than it does about him.
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Barbaro, book opening our eyes
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
It probably never occurred to you that if Barbaro had been running in a $25,000 claiming race when he went down on Preakness Day, he would have been euthanized on the track. Sorry, but that’s the way it is. Barbaro was spared, at great expense, because of his future as a breeder. Let me assure you, though, that even some of the great ones aren’t spared, mercilessly destroyed by brutal owners who have no further use for them once their productive days are done.
This has weighed on my mind since a copy of “After the Finish Line” reached my desk awhile ago, months ago to be shamefully honest. Bill Heller, a writer for Thoroughbred Times, produced it, and I’ve dawdled about trying to decide when and how to get about it. I’ve bred and raced thorougbreds, but I only got close to one, named Middleburg Life, co-owned with Sam Huff of the NFL Huffs. This son of Academy Award won a few races before he came down injured a second time, and it was then that Sam and I agreed that we should find a good home for him, and we did, in a lady’s pasture in Virginia.
Exceller won on dirt and grass, he won on two continents. In the same race, the Jockey Club Gold Cup at Belmont Park, he beat both Seattle Slew and Affirmed in 1978. Retired to stud, he bred several stakes winners, but was eventually sold to a man in Sweden. It is cruelly ironic that in the same year he was voted into the Hall of Fame at Saratoga, 1997, he was killed in a slaughterhouse in Sweden.
Once it became public knowledge, Exceller’s fate set off a wave of revulsion in this country, but it wasn’t enough to save the life of Ferdinand five years later. You remember Ferdinand. Won the Kentucky Derby in 1986, but when he didn’t produce in the barn, he was exported to Japan, and when he didn’t produce there, was slaughtered. A Kentucky Derby winner becomes dog meat!
It was nearly a year before the news broke in the United States, and a storm of outrage followed. But what kind of a dent did it make in this country? Not enough to halt the rate of slaughter, said to be about 50,000 a year. That includes all varieties, thoroughbreds, quarter horses, standardbreds, ponies, dray horses, just horses. But horse lovers of all sorts have been moved to action by the slaughter of classic champions.
Various and sundry individuals have sprung to the fore, some acting alone, some creating save-the-horse organizations. One was a sports writer from Boston who took early buy-out to pursue his mission in Kentucky. Michael Blowen’s organization is known as Old Friends, located on a farm near Midway, and has found help coming from all directions. One of his first “clients” was a filly by Exceller, sardonically named Narrow Escape. She had failed to get a bid at a major auction, and the auctioneer donated her to Old Friends.
These are just some of the cases Heller tells us about, most all referring to racing thoroughbreds. Not all the horses spared the slaughterhouse have the exciting background of one named Rich in Dallas. Rich in Dallas had portrayed Seabiscuit in the movie, but had soon slipped from view. Blowen found him running in $2,500 claiming races at Los Alamitos, the last step before the slaughterhouse, bought him and moved him to Midway, where he is enjoying pasture retirement.
There are several other organizations dedicated to the humane service of sparing the thoroughbred whose usefulness both on the track and in the breeding shed is over, Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation among others, but they can only skim off the top. Their rescue operation is mainly directed toward the racing horse, for there are people who feel a certain affection for these warriors, lowly as some may have been.
While there are cases of famous horses whose slaughter creates indignation, there are companies in Texas and Pennsylvania, cited in Heller’s book, that run horses through like cars at a car wash. “After the Finish Line” deals mainly with the racing thoroughbred and Heller’s repulsion at the slaughter. I can only scratch the surface here, but let me repeat what Bill Nack wrote after hearing of Ferdinand’s death: “Kentucky Derby winners are not meant to be part of a food chain.”
I can add to that, that no horse is.
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Legacies trade places in one classic fall
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
New York — Nine years and eight months ago, two teams gathered in the cathedral of baseball for a World Series that would change both of them forever. The Braves could have — OK, should have — stamped themselves as an assemblage for the ages. Instead they lost a lead and a Series and were never quite the same again.
We know all about Game 4 — about the wasted 6-0 lead; about the slider Mark Wohlers threw to that rat Jim Leyritz; about Steve Avery walking Wade Boggs with the bases loaded. That was the point of departure for both franchises, but no discussion of any of the games the Yankees won in that Series can be complete without recalling the two games they lost.
The Braves were the reigning champions. They arrived at Yankee Stadium after storming from 3-1 down to beat St. Louis in the NLCS, outscoring the Cardinals 32-1 over the final three games. Then they won Games 1 and 2 here by the aggregate score of 16-1. Said Chipper Jones: “About the best five-game stretch I’ve seen a Braves team play. ….It was utter domination.”
When the proceedings moved to Atlanta, the question wasn’t whether the Yankees could win the Series but whether they could take a game. “We knew how good the Braves were,” said Joe Torre, who Monday recalled the 19-year-old Andruw Jones smacking two Game 1 homers off Andy Pettitte as “pretty awesome.”
“We never really think negatively,” said Mariano Rivera, who came to prominence that postseason as a setup man for John Wetteland. “But we had a meeting [after the Braves won Game 1 by 11 runs] and Joe said, ‘Take it game by game and just enjoy yourselves.’”
Two games down and seemingly bound to become the forgotten losers as the dynastic Braves sent out Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium on the highest possible note, the Yankees and Torre did a tiny but massive thing. Facing Tom Glavine, Tim Raines led off Game 3 with a walk, and then Torre had his No. 2 hitter — a certain Derek Jeter — sacrifice him over. The Bronx Bombers, bunting? “I just wanted to take a lead,” Torre would say later, and that attention to detail was something the rampaging Braves couldn’t match.
“We played little games,” said Rivera, remembering that World Series, “and we won huge games. We played the game the way you’re supposed to play it.”
“Probably the best decision I made in that World Series,” said Torre, who’d both played for and managed the Braves, “was scheduling David Cone to pitch the first game down there. I knew how intimidating that park could be. And then, when it was 6-0 in Game 4, we got the first three runs back [off Denny Neagle]. That gave us hope we could do something.”
The Yankees would go on to win four Series in five years, which definitely constitutes doing something. The Braves haven’t won a World Series game since. Talking to his son years later, Larry Wayne Jones Sr. said, “Jim Leyritz stole the Team of the ’90s [designation] from the Braves.” The son wouldn’t argue the point then or now. “I still think we had a pretty good run,” Chipper Jones said, “but they had the world championships to back it up.”
The teams gathered again Monday in the big ballpark by the Lexington Avenue subway line, neither side being what it was. The Braves are 16 games out of first place, and the profligate-but-infirm Yankees might well miss the playoffs for the first time since 1993. (Even in their weakened state, the Yankees toyed with the Braves, Jason Giambi driving in five runs before Tim Hudson could record his sixth out.)
Any time these teams play, the mind flashes back to 1996, and the mind, as it tends to do, goes wandering and wondering. Would the Yankees have grown into a colossus had they lost meekly in ‘96? Would a frosted George Steinbrenner have fired Torre and dumped Jeter for a bigger name? Wouldn’t the last nine years and eight months have felt a lot different if Wohlers had stuck with his fastball?
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A whole lot of choking going on
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
Sports etiquette says that you shouldn’t use the “c” word. Well, too bad. So many teams and individuals have spent the past few days pulling a Jim Leyritz (you know, in memory of the Braves’ collapse against the New York Yankees in the 1996 World Series) that we need to discuss choke, choked, choking and their derivatives.
Here’s the poster child of it all: Phil Mickelson. The guy is so spooked after his ridiculous blunders at the end of last week’s U.S. Open that he dropped out of a tournament slated to begin today in Gaylord, Mich. We’re talking about the ING Par-3 Shootout, as in the antithesis of Winged Foot pressure, as in Mickelson really is screwed up mentally after turning a one-stroke lead on the last hole of that U.S. Open into a shocking loss.
Said Mickelson, in a prepared statement on why he isn’t in the Shootout for the first time in seven years, “It’s always about having fun, and I didn’t think it was fair to the event to act like I could have a lot of fun right now.”
Translated: Mickelson still can’t swallow. The same goes for members of the U.S. men’s soccer team after they got kicked out of the World Cup without much of fight Thursday by little Ghana. Two days before that, the Dallas Mavericks somehow went from leading the Miami Heat 2-0 and holding a 13-point lead with barely six minutes left in Game 3 to not winning the NBA championship. Then, that weekend, Georgia Tech’s baseball team made an ugly exit out of the College World Series after blowing two late-game leads, including one of 4-0 in the eighth inning.
What is this all about, and if you have a habit of playing with one hand and keeping the other around your throat, is it possible to reverse a Jim Leyritz? We’ll ask Dr. John F. Murray, a noted sports psychologist from Palm Beach, Fla., whose clients have included NFL quarterbacks, Olympians and Vince Spadea, once an afterthought in men’s tennis before he huddled with Murray to reach a No 18 world ranking.
Murray spoke by phone on Sunday from London, where he will attend Wimbledon this week while continuing to run a sports psychology workshop. And, yes, he has mentioned the “c” word more than a few times to his students. “Any time you perceive expectations that go beyond staying optimally focused in the moment — just playing your sport in a free, aggressive, challenged way — something will change in a couple of areas for those who struggle in these situations,” said Murray, referring to everything from Jim Kelly’s Buffalo Bills to Greg Norman to Phi Slamma Jamma against North Carolina State to Mike Tyson against Buster Douglas to Florida (wide right) State against Miami to most of the Braves’ exits out of October during their 14 consecutive trips to the playoffs.
Added Murray, “Typically, when you’re feeling a lot of pressure in these situations, you tend to experience a little bit more internal focus. Not only are you competing with trying to perform a simple task, you are competing with the myriad of thoughts in your mind. Such as, ‘What happens if I fail at doing this simple task?’ It becomes a double burden, and we only have so much capacity to deal with it mentally.”
That’s Part I. As for Part II, somebody needs to e-mail this to Mickelson, who spent that 72nd hole at Winged Foot ripping his drive off a hospitality tent, slamming a shot into a tree, burying the ball in a bunker, blasting out of the sand into rough near the green, chipping six feet past the cup and settling for a double bogey. “Your body responds in certain ways to things like pressure and fear,” Murray said. “You have the classic fight-or-flight response that causes increased muscle tension and makes blood rush to the center of the body, and your mind starts to quicken a little bit. It throws out that holy grail of performing, which would be, ‘Just do it.’ “
Murray has a solution for those who frequently succumb to pressure (in other words, choke), and that is: Just call him, or somebody else. “I’m going to say this very sincerely; they really do need to invest in the latest profession of mental coaching or sports psychology,” said Murray, who also could have suggested that they really do need to man-up, too.
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Hawks set for choice mistake
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
Twice a year, the sporting calendar brings out the fatalist in all Atlantans. October has become a civic ritual of hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing and what-have-you, but the Braves’ sudden spiral is making that month, at least for 2006, look angst-free.
But there’s still the end of June.
Draft time for your Atlanta Hawks.
Let the wailing begin.
The Hawks have gotten it wrong every which way. They’ve drafted guys who couldn’t play (Ed Gray, Adam Keefe, Keith Edmonson) and guys who didn’t play as well as they should have (DerMarr Johnson, Roshown McLeod, Rumeal Robinson). They’ve drafted the wrong guy (Marvin Williams instead of Chris Paul, Douglas Edwards instead of Sam Cassell, Jon Koncak instead of Karl Malone). Even when they’ve drafted the right guy (Boris Diaw), they didn’t know what to do with him.
The last All-Star the Hawks have drafted? Kevin Willis in 1984. Since then this team has had six different coaches and three different GMs, and nothing has changed. The draft arrives. The Hawks whiff. The fans howl.
And yes, contrary to popular belief, there are Hawks fans out there. TV ratings for the NBA playoffs continue to suggest that we Atlantans love watching pro basketball. We just don’t love watching the Hawks play it. Asked if this market is ready to support the local NBA franchise the way it did in the frenzied (and somewhat forgotten) ’80s, Dominique Wilkins said, “There’s no question about it.” But can the populace get behind an operation that keeps proving it can’t get out of its own way?
Hawks drafts are fascinating in that they invariably fall below even our lowest expectations, and Wednesday’s installment arrives at a particularly twisted moment. The franchise has no idea which of its many owners, if any, will be owning it a year from now. Already whispers from Boston have Steve Belkin, thought to be on his way out, readying a new management team for when he buys out the Gearon/Levenson group. Billy Knight, the blunt GM who’ll do the picking in this draft, could well be selecting a player for the benefit of the man whose hand he famously wouldn’t shake. How’s that for clarity?
“It’s too bad for our city and our fans that this has happened,” said Wilkins, who’s supposed to be part of the ownership team that may now be judicially compelled to cede ownership. Really, though, this city and these fans have come to expect no less — and absolutely no more — from the Hawks, who haven’t made the playoffs since 1999 and whose latter-day flailings have made the 50-win seasons achieved under poor Pete Babcock seem, by way of contrast, a glorious run.
Everything is in place for a dramatic upgrade — a nice new-ish arena, an NBA-ready audience, a city about to tune out on the Braves — except the franchise itself. Ownership must be clarified. A point guard must be found to pull all Knight’s beloved swingmen together. And who, it is believed, is the latest apple of Knight’s eye? Shelden Williams of Duke, who, on the plus side, isn’t a swingman but who, on the minus side, is sized like one.
“He’s a banger,” said Wilkins, speaking of Williams. But can a 6-foot-9 (give or take) post player flourish in a league that’s rather bigger and faster than the ACC? Can Williams make the face-the-basket transition that Elton Brand, a similarly sized Blue Devil, did? Or is Williams simply too slow and too stiff?
“We could use a point guard,” Wilkins said, telling no lies. “We’re a few pieces away. But if we bring in a banger and [another guy or two], we can be right where we want to be.”
Maybe they can. Maybe they will. But until proven otherwise, Hawks fans would be wise to approach this draft the same way they approach every draft. Lower those expectations. Then lower them some more. Don’t expect an uncut diamond. Expect Roy Marble.
Permalink | Comments (79) | Categories: Hawks / NBA, Mark Bradley
Turner Field’s a graveyard of ‘06 hopes
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
In the throes of misery, there can sometimes be found a ray of hope. Not so in the case of the Braves of 2006.
Having said that, let me illuminate you as to just how bad things really are: They’re so bad even an outfielder (Kelly Johnson) had to have Tommy John surgery. They’re so bad that they’ve even raided the Australia National team in search of pitchers. They’re so bad that only Milwaukee has a worse ERA. They’re so bad that their pitching roster leads the league in asterisks (that indicates wounded or in surgery). They’re so bad that John Schuerholz might as well disconnect his line to Richmond and Pearl, Miss.
That’s just for openers. Friday night, playing Tampa Bay (in St. Petersburg?), John Smoltz throws something out of joint and leaves after two innings. Then one of the Australians, Phil Stockman, stubs his toe on the pitching rubber and pulls something. I’m sorry I don’t remember what, but there is one thing the Braves lead the league in: bruises, contusions, pulled groins, pulled hamstrings and assorted strains.
Aren’t these guys in shape, or are they just brittle? When a club starts sending its stars to the body shop for help, you know it’s trouble, and that starts with T and that rhymes with P and that stands for pool, for all of you who missed “Music Man.”
The clubhouse is beginning to look like a bus station. A lot of strange (unfamiliar) names over the cubicles. Some guys just passing through. They recalled one player from Richmond and he was on his way back before he could unpack. The best pitching “find” they came up with this year has been in pro ball since 1993, had pitched for 13 different teams, had pitched 11 innings in the major leagues, is 31 years old. Heaven knows what they’d have done without Ken Ray. His ERA is the best on the staff and he hasn’t yet blown a save.
That’s just the minor stuff. Get this: Chipper Jones was hitting .270 last time I looked. Smoltz was 4-5 and couldn’t win because somebody out of the bullpen was blowing his leads. Tim Hudson hasn’t been living up to his wages, and I wouldn’t exactly call his season of ‘05 up to par. Winning 14 is fine, but he was paid a 20-win salary when the Braves traded for him. Chris Reitsma, closer by appointment, took the ball for weeks and got blasted before he finally admitted he wasn’t feeling good. In fact, not at all in part of his pitching hand.
You remember how it was last season. It’s getting to be a different story now. When trouble struck, all they had to do was called Richmond or Mississippi, and presto! They came up with a Kyle Davies or a Brian McCann, or a Jeff Francoeur, or a Blaine Boyer, or a Macay McBride. Each time a star was born. Everybody was ready last season. This year they’re dragging bottom.
“Nobody left down there,” Bobby Cox said.
It’s one of those in-between seasons. Nobody on the farm is hot, or ready. The best-looking hitting prospect in the spring was James Jurries, who can play first base or outfield. He was hitting over .400. Then he’s farmed out to Richmond and gets hurt. In his stead, Scott Thorman, another first baseman, is called up and everything he hits gets caught.
Something else bothers me. Two of the brightest prospects are sitting on the bench, or being platooned, Adam LaRoche and Ryan Langerhans. Somebody needs to build a fire under LaRoche, not just referring to that embarrassing play when Washington was in town. Casual is fine, but it seems he’s overdoing it. Langerhans? He has all the tools, great defense, strong arm, sharp baserunner. My idea: Put Andruw Jones, Francoeur and Langerhans in the outfield and leave them there, no matter, right-hander or left-hander pitching.
You never suspected that a Braves bullpen would take such a pratfall. Roger McDowell can do just so much. He is developing a streak of gray down the middle of his locks, and don’t bring up the name of Mazzone. Leo is having troubles of his own. The Orioles’ ERA is next to the worst in the American League.
I guess that’s about all I had on my mind. But who can complain? After 14 years of prosperity we’re due some hard times. On the other hand, here’s to Brian McCann, who has handled all these cranky pitchers, old or young, has swung a competent bat, and never faltered.
Permalink | Comments (21) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Furman Bisher
Poor George tumbles down baseball’s rabbit hole
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
I’m starting to think we were better off when everybody in baseball was on drugs and nobody cared.
For those of you who turned away from baseball’s drug investigations long ago, mistakenly believing the Braves’ season would provide therapy and not nightly viewings of bullpen flambé, this is what you’ve missed lately:
• George Mitchell came out of retirement and learned a difficult lesson: Life bites without subpoena power. The former Senate majority leader was asked to look into these steroid stories that keep ruining Bud Selig’s morning Cocoa Puffs. Problem is, Mitchell can’t get former or present players to talk about past drug use, their own or anybody else’s. Right now, Poor George would settle for solid evidence of an amphetamine-popping Chihuahua.
• Mitchell, who could buy another retirement home with what he’s being paid, has asked Selig to sanction any baseball employee, from general manager down to ball boy, who he deems “uncooperative” in his investigation, according to The New York Times. In a related story, Mitchell would like the offices of Major League Baseball moved to Nuremberg.
• Federal prosecutors have subpoenaed two San Francisco Chronicle reporters in hopes of compelling them to divulge who leaked grand jury testimony from the BALCO case to them. As a member of the media, I realize we’re not always so popular. But consider this: Two reporters could end up spending more time in jail to protect sources than any of the five defendants in the BALCO case, including Victor Conte.
Sell drugs, go to jail for four months. Write stories about a guy who sells drugs, well NOW we’re talking about something serious.
The Bush administration is urging a federal judge to pressure the reporters, I guess because the Bush administration has nothing else on its plate these days.
Hey, here’s a thought: Solve today’s problem of only semi-effective drug testing. It’s a little late for yesterday.
For argument sake, let’s assume the worst. Let’s say 80 percent of Major League players once used steroids, HGH, amphetamines or some performance-enhancing drugs.
OK, now what? Forget records. Hall of Fame voters, sports history books and fans will take care of artificially inflated numbers. Asterisks aren’t necessary. But exactly how does threatening to fire a trainer unless he confesses he saw a player stick a needle in his tush seven years ago solve anything?
“The question I’ve had all along is, ‘What’s the goal?’ ” said the San Francisco Chronicle’s Mark Fainaru-Wada, who co-authored “Game of Shadows.” The book relies on interviews and grand jury testimony to detail Barry Bonds’ alleged use of steroids.
“I’ve never heard [Selig] say what their objective is with this investigation. If they want to find out the facts related to BALCO or Bonds’ situation or the book, the fact-finding shouldn’t be that difficult. There’s 30,000 pages of documents.”
Selig knows what happened. He’s been an owner and a commissioner, so he’s well versed in all levels of deceit and denial.
All he has to do is stand up and say, “We goofed. We knew about the drugs, but we closed our eyes because Sosa and McGwire sold tickets and did wonders for our TV ratings and we were all getting rich. We all share the blame. But it all stops here. Right now.”
Instead, everybody is looking like the lost Stooge. This week, the U.S. attorney’s office in San Francisco put a PDF of a federal court brief online. Segments that referred to the grand jury’s steroid investigation were redacted in print. But it was discovered the passages that were “blacked out” electronically could be read simply by pasting them into a word document.
Oops.
References to several e-mail messages between Conte and Fainaru-Wada clearly outed Conte as a source — although it didn’t provide direct proof he leaked the BALCO documents.
A spokesman for the U.S. attorney’s office referred to the PDF blunder as “an unfortunate error.”
No. A typo is an unfortunate error. These are people trying to nail Bonds for perjury?
Shining light that he is, Bonds says through an attorney that he would love to cooperate with Mitchell’s investigation. But he needs assurances that anything he says can’t be used against him while the FBI is looking into perjury and maybe even tax evasion.
So what we have here are two competing investigations bumping into each other; neither is going very far.
Aren’t you glad you stopped paying attention?
Permalink | Comments (8) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Jeff Schultz
Braves are apathethic city’s just desserts
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
In case you haven’t noticed, the Braves are an embarrassment, but this is only a momentary thing. They’ll rebound sooner than later after the disaster that is this season, and you know what?
That’s really too bad. Let the pitching continue its post-Leo Mazzone dive toward oblivion. Don’t fret over the hitters spending more time swinging at air than the ball. Cheer the wild throws and the botched grounders. The Braves need to stay brutal for a while to teach a lesson to the overwhelming majority of those who have spent recent years yawning between chopping and chanting.
Not only that, you’ve had the slew of those just yawning. You’ve also had those who haven’t bothered to show up, especially when the Braves were doing what they won’t do this year, and that is finding ways to reach the playoffs.
If there ever was a city that didn’t deserve a team doing the unprecedented and the unthinkable such as the Braves along the way to 14 consecutive division titles, that city is right here in the heart of Dixie. Or should I say that city is right here in the heart of apathy? Take it from Chuck Tanner, the Braves’ manager during their previous dark days of the 1980s. He sighed over the phone the other day after reflecting on those who have shrugged during the Braves’ nice run. “I mean, what do you want?” Tanner said, before easing into a chuckle. “I’ll tell you what they wanted. They wanted 14 consecutive world championships.”
Which brings me to this: Unless an Atlanta professional sports team is doing something or has somebody that appeals to the lowest common denominator of sports fans, you can forget it. They aren’t coming. To keep their focus away from what the Bulldogs are doing, they need a ‘Nique or a Vick or a worst-to-first miracle.
The Hawks have finished among the bottom two in NBA home attendance for each of the past five years, and even when they were at least good during the Mookie Blaylock, Steve Smith and Dikembe Mutombo years, they barely showed a pulse at the gate. The Falcons’ recent popularity is a No. 7 thing. Period. Before the 2003 season, the Falcons sold every ticket for every game, but after Michael Vick broke his leg during the preseason, the only place more empty than the parking lots around the Georgia Dome during home games were the many sections inside. The Thrashers still draw well because they remain a novelty to many, but their honeymoon is another trip away from the playoffs from becoming a nasty divorce.
Then you have the Braves, the epitome of it all with an asterisk. In contrast to the Hawks, for instance, the Braves have perfected victory. It mattered at the start of their run to the masses, when the chopping and the chanting was unique, but then winning became passé. Actually, that’s being kind when describing the Braves’ shocking lack of physical and vocal support during the past decade, especially when it counted the most in October.
Only six of the Braves’ past 19 home games in the division series were sellouts. Five involved the Cardinals and the Cubs, whose fan bases were louder and often larger than those of the Braves. That other sellout came two years ago, when the national media kept mentioning the contrast between the wired crowds in Houston and the bored ones at Turner Field. In essence, Braves fans were punked into at least showing up for a fifth and decisive Game 5.
As for Braves home games in the National League Championship Series, they’ve sold out just three of their previous 12, and their last one against the Diamondbacks in 2001 drew 14,000 folks shy of capacity.
The place was packed this past weekend for the Braves’ regular-season games against the Red Sox, and that was good for the Red Sox. While the Red Sox players contributed to the Braves’ slide in the standings, the Red Sox fans made so much racket compared with their counterparts that you’d have thought there was a Green Monster in left field.
I already can hear those tired and familiar excuses. Here’s the most nauseating: You can’t find an Atlanta native anymore, and you have so many people who are from someplace else. Well, I know a lot of Atlanta natives, and given today’s highly mobile society, most cities away from the East and the upper Midwest are transient these days. Phoenix. Miami. Dallas. San Francisco. Seattle. Los Angeles. Denver. (Fill in the blank.)
The bottom line is that Atlanta fans need a wake-up call regarding pro sports, and maybe they’ll get one now that the Braves’ dominance is going to sleep.
Permalink | Comments (346) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Terence Moore
Wade vs. LeBron? Take James
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
In 2003 the hot-button discussion didn’t involve LeBron vs. Dwyane. It was, if you’ll recall, LeBron vs. Carmelo. The passage of time has proved Mr. James to be a better NBA player than Mr. Anthony, better than almost everybody. But is he better than Mr. Wade?
Yes, I say. Wade is a great player, but Wade, as was noted in this space not long ago, has the disproportionate advantage of playing alongside Shaquille O’Neal. Give James enough help and he’ll win an NBA title soon enough, same as Wade just won his.
But the greater issue today is to reflect on that 2003 draft, which yielded a future MVP (James) with its first pick, a demonstrable scorer (Anthony) with its third and a burgeoning power forward (Chris Bosh) with its fourth. And where was Dwyane Wade taken? Not with the second pick, which was the almost-forgotten Darko Milicic.
With the fifth.
The Hawks have the fifth pick in this draft.
I’ll say this now and stand by it forever: If Billy Knight gets a Dwyane Wade in this draft, all is forgiven.
Permalink | Comments (26) | Categories: Mark Bradley, Quick Hit
Braves’ season lost, but future can be saved
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
For 15 years they had to manage success, and they did it expertly. Now the Braves must manage the first real failure in nearly a generation, and there’s a way to do that, too. They can begin by going back to the beginning. They can begin by going out and finding more pitching.
They don’t need to be making any trades in the forlorn hope that there’s a wild-card run in this bedraggled squad. The Braves began play Wednesday night with the 14th-best record in a 16-team league. There’s no way any GM worth his Blackberry trades a prospect like Jarrod Saltalamacchia in the off-chance that some veteran import will energize a team. Fred McGriff was the exception, not the rule. And the 1993 Braves, even without McGriff, were a heck of a lot better than this bunch.
On the contrary, the Braves need to find more Saltalamacchias. This team got good because of pitching and prospects. Unless somebody extravagantly rich and foolish buys this team — Mark Cuban isn’t believed to be among the bidders — the Braves aren’t going to get good again by buying the highest-priced free agents. They’ll have to do it the way they did it in 1991. The good news: The guy who oversaw that transformation is here still.
Even with his team 14 1/2 games behind the Mets and eight games out of the wild-card spot, John Schuerholz insisted Wednesday he hasn’t abandoned all hope for 2006. “We’re going to do everything we can to fix this team and stay in the race,” he said. “If it becomes painfully obvious we can’t do that, we’ll go to work on the ’07 team.”
It’s time now. Though Schuerholz still looks to prop up his lousy bullpen — “We’re working on it,” he said — no reliever short of Mariano Rivera is going to make a difference here. The big news Wednesday was that Bobby Cox reassigned Jorge Sosa to relief, but it’s hard to imagine a 1-9 starter being reborn as a lockdown closer.
The lack of pitching, starting and otherwise, has killed this team. The offense, believe it not, is statistically about average. The team ERA is the league’s third-worst. That right there would seem to dismiss the week’s non-story, meaning a possible trade of John Smoltz. When you have a bad rotation and a worse bullpen, can you part with a man who’s a splendid starter and who was, lest we forget, the best closer in franchise history? (Say Mike Hampton returns next season and stabilizes the rotation. Might the Braves ask Smoltz — who told reporters Tuesday he just wants “whatever is best for the team” — to reconsider his I’m-a-starter stance? They might.)
Said Schuerholz: “If you measure my track record, my history is to accumulate pitching, not to dismiss it.”
Truth to tell, the Braves’ pitching has been running short for three years. The Tim Hudson trade of December 2004 was the first move toward rebalancing, but more are needed. They got away with Sosa-as-starter last season, but two such years were too much to ask. If the Braves could find a big-time arm at the trading deadline — or, more likely, over the winter — it might be worth parting with any everyday veteran. Even Chipper Jones, who’s not the player he was three years ago. Even Andruw Jones, whose contract expires after the 2007 season.
Keep Jeff Francoeur. Keep Brian McCann and Saltalamacchia. They’re the future. Find as much pitching as you can, then go find some more. That approach won’t be nearly as sexy as trying to swing a deal for Albert Pujols or some other unattainable All-Star, but that measured approach set these last 15 years in motion. And the Braves, in case you’re wondering, much preferred those 15 years to the one they’re suffering through.
“When you have surprising disappointment, you try to manage the organization past and through it,” Schuerholz said. “That’s so you don’t have to endure it again. It only takes one experience like this to know that we don’t like it. … This is like being kicked in the shins sharply every day.”
And here he actually smiled. “My shins hurt.”
Permalink | Comments (130) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Mark Bradley
American soccer flourishes in its own way
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
One thing you could never sell Phil Woosnam short on was optimism. And sincerity. If he said it, he believed it, so it was that as we sat over breakfast - or maybe it was lunch - he looked me in the eye and he said, “Twenty or twenty-five years from now soccer will have taken this country by storm. It will be bigger than professional football.”
Woosnam was speaking from a position of authority, then commissioner of the revamped and refreshened North American Soccer League. I’m guessing at the year, probably the early 1970s, for after just two seasons coaching the Atlanta Chiefs, Woosnam became commissioner and nursed the NASL through some critical times.
He had come to Atlanta from England in 1967, bedecked in a wreath of titles - general manager, head coach and a playing member of the original Chiefs, pennant winners and first national champion from Atlanta in any professional league. Twice the Chiefs beat the major league Manchester City team of England in exhibitions, after the Manchester GM had sneered at the Chiefs as “Fourth Division.” (That’s bad.) Woosnam had been a star on West Ham and Aston Villa, premium teams in the English league, a modest lad from a small town in Wales who went to the city and found celebrity.
Once in commissioner’s chair, he was able to attract some aging performers from the old country, and for awhile in the early ’70s they were filling stadiums. Later Pele would come, and Beckenbauer, and George Best, but it was like dwelling on dessert before the main course, and it didn’t last.
But Woosnam stayed with his dream.
Soccer did flourish in the USA, but on the playground and school levels, not major league. “Soccer mom” became a new word to bandy about. Kids developed in high school, but that was the end of the line. There was little inducement to go to college. Real hot stars had to leave the country to find a game.
“It has done well in high school and college,” Woosnam said the other day. “It has spread, and our national teams have done well. The women have done the best, though. They’ve won two World Cups. The men have made it to the World Cup five times, once as the host team, and I think they could do well this time.”
As of the moment, their highlight has been a tie with Italy, though they yet have to score a goal on their own. One of the Italian players got twisted about and deflected the ball into his own goal, thank you very much.
Well, pro football is still stands unthreatened. Soccer hasn’t spread like a swarm of locusts across the fruited plain. The North American League got a second wind in Atlanta when Ted Turner’s television empire took the wheel in 1980. The Chiefs returned to Atlanta Stadium after taking flings in other venues, but soccer wasn’t selling and sometime down the road the NASL breathed its last breath in Atlanta.
“Maybe I was a little premature,” Woosnam said, “but you never say never. Good things are happening. Women players have jumped ahead of the men. We’ve got to quit letting our good players go overseas. You understand why, that’s where the shekels are.”
While soccer struggles for its place in the sun over here, it is the international pastime. Anybody can play. This a case in which size isn’t important. Nations no larger than some of our counties are kicking the ball around on the same field with world political and economic powers. Togo, Costa Rica, Trinidad & Tobago, Croatia, and the beat goes on. Kids can pick up the game on the street without benefit of ball. Roll up a bunch of rags in the shape of a ball, start kicking it around and you have a game. Some of the stars have come out of the most destitute of situations. It can be one poor kid’s ticket out of a wilderness.
One thing never changes about soccer - the game. Baseball, football, basketball are forever changing rules and playing conditions. Soccer always has been the same, always will be. A plain and simple game with one objective: Kick the ball in the other team’s net. It’s probably the most exhausting team game of them all, 90 minutes in a sprint with intermittent entanglements. And God help the player who scores an own goal.
Permalink | Comments (10) | Categories: Furman Bisher, Other
Mavs’ choke job recalls ‘96 Series
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
The Miami Heat didn’t just win the NBA championship. The Dallas Mavericks just lost it.
This was the biggest choke in team sports, since the Braves’ silly collapse against Jim Leyritz and the New York Yankees during the 1996 World Series.
Just like those Braves, the Heat was up 2-0 in a seven-game series. Just like those Braves, the Mavs had their Leyritz moment (those Braves blew a 6-0 lead midway through Game 4 that would have given them a 3-1 advantage in the series, and the Mavs blew a 13-point lead with barely six minutes left in Game 3 that would have placed them a win from a title).
Then both teams lost in Game 6 after normally clutch players suddenly weren’t clutch anymore.
Then again, it’s difficult to play with one hand around your throat.
Permalink | Comments (22) | Categories: Quick Hit
Forget rumors — Hawks need a point guard
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
There has been this rumor floating around the Internet (which is Latin for: vast cesspool of disinformation) that the Hawks already have decided to draft Duke forward Shelden Williams.
Personally, I find it best to avoid rumors before drafts, unless they are from a credible source. For example, the National Enquirer this week has nothing about the NBA draft but it does have a really good story about Brad Pitt possibly not being the father of Angelina Jolie’s new baby girl.
This will mean nothing to Hawks fans, unless Billy Knight is projecting Shiloh as the Hawks’ next point guard because of her athleticism and long-term potential.
But that’s almost certainly not going to happen.
Probably.
General managers lie before drafts. Everybody lies before drafts. The big problem with the Hawks is that there have been so many bad selections and missteps in terms of player analysis and development - I’ll cite Boris Diaw and Jason Terry in these NBA playoffs - that the potential disinformation campaign floating online might be less scary than the team’s actual plan.
Shelden Williams was a nice player at Duke. He may or may not be a decent player in the NBA. But unless drafting Williams is part of some plan to shift one or two other bodies in that 6-foot-7 to 6-9 range off the roster for somebody who can really help, he does nothing for the Hawks.
He’s not a point guard.
The Hawks worked out three guards Monday. I would take that as a good sign if I thought public displays of affection meant something this time of year.
To say the Hawks need a point guard has qualified as a big, “Duh,” for some time now. But the mistakes of the past and the importance of that position became magnified in these playoffs.
The NBA, after years of thugball, mercifully is slowly swinging back to a scoring league. Players can’t hand check while holding slabs of concrete, anymore. There is more room to roam on the perimeter. It’s becoming a guard’s game again. (It could still be a center’s game, but the lack of many great big men prevent that.)
Terry, the former Hawks player, has blossomed into one of the game’s best point guards in these playoffs. In Atlanta, he was viewed as limited and something other than a building block. Go figure.
Phoenix made it as far as it did because of Steve Nash, who won his second MVP award. Chauncey Billups led Detroit to the best record in the regular season. Chris Paul - well, you know about Chris Paul.
Technically, Dwyane Wade, LeBron James and Kobe Bryant aren’t point guards. But they don’t have to be. When the game is on the line, the ball is in their hands.
Everybody knew Wade was good. Few knew he might be one of the game’s three best players. Dallas is a deeper and better all-around team than Miami. To deny that is to give too much weight to the marquee value of roster antiques like Gary Payton. But the Heat took a 3-2 series lead back to Dallas with a chance to win a championship because of Wade, and only Wade. He has enabled Miami to overcome a superior opponent and the sporadic play of his formally teammate, Shaquille O’Neal.
The Hawks need somebody to run the show. They need a compliment in the backcourt to Joe Johnson. There has been little to indicate they will pursue a trade for Allen Iverson, even though he would make them infinitely more watchable. The thought that Terry would want to come back here in free agency seems laughable. Sam Cassell, another free agent, is a possibility.
But the way this league is going, one move for one veteran point guard isn’t enough.
If Connecticut junior Marcus Williams really is the best point guard in the draft, the Hawks should make him their pick with the fifth selection. If Knight doesn’t draft the right Williams - Marcus, not Shelden - or any point guard, there could be only two logical explanations:
He wants to lock the Hawks’ future into such mediocrity that Steve Belkin will drop his pursuit of the franchise in court. Or he has his eye on Shiloh.
Permalink | Comments (28) | Categories: Hawks / NBA, Jeff Schultz
Tuesday Countdown still worst-to-first
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
10: The Falcons have shown no interest in Denver wide receiver Ashley Lelie, who held out of a recent minicamp and is being shopped. Lelie has averaged 42 catches a season in his first four years. He must be over qualified.
9: The answer is: The Rangers, Padres and Braves. The question is: What do they have in common? Well, nothing yet. But … (they call this a tease in broadcasting. The problem is, I don’t have any sponsors so I can’t go to a commercial).
8: (This number for sale.)
7: I knew you’d come crawling down to 7. If the Braves finish in last place, they will be the first baseball team to pull a first-to-worst since Texas won the American League West in 1998 and 1999, then tumbled to last in 2000 (20 1/2 games behind Oakland). The last National League team to go from first to last was San Diego. The Padres went 91-71 to win the National League West in 1996, then fell to 76-87 and 21 games back of San Francisco in 1997.
6: Do I think the Braves will finish in last? No. But when you lose 17 out of 20, the mind wanders.
5: It’s not surprising the Braves have no plans to trade Chipper Jones (as if anybody would take his contract), Andruw Jones, Tim Hudson or John Smoltz is not surprising. But if it’s true there are no plans to deal catching prospect Jarrod Saltalamacchia tells me there’s little chance of a major trade forth coming.
4: Marcus Giles — he wasn’t addressed.
3: The legion of Giles fans think I’m picking on him. But you need to understand something. He hasn’t shown that he can hit leadoff, he’s not indispensable at second and - here’s the big one — he’s arbitration eligible. There’s a decent chance that the Braves will not want to pay him, which would mean he’s gone anyway.
2: So the last two Stanley Cup winners have come from the Southeast Division (Carolina and Tampa Bay). I guess the Washington Capitals are next up.
1: Billy Payne promises a week of celebrations to commemorate the 10-year anniversary of the Atlanta Olympics. Hopefully, nothing will involve a bus ride.
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Chuck Tanner sees his hand in Braves success
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
Chuck Tanner? Among the key architects behind the Braves’ run of goodness through last season? To hear him tell it, the celebrated duo of John Schuerholz and Bobby Cox should be at least a trio. I mean, are pigs flying backward with tomahawks across their chests?
Could be. Given all of the plausible things that Tanner said with his legendary zeal over the telephone from his home in New Castle, Pa., maybe the world really is flat.
This is the same Tanner who managed Braves teams that were more brutal than the current one. They finished last during his first year in 1986, next-to-last the following season and then last after he was fired in May of 1988. Even so, there was that moment during the early 1990s after Tanner finished huffing and puffing with others in an old-timer’s game at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium. Tanner and his former teammates were discussing everything from their Braves of Milwaukee to the ones of the moment when somebody told Tanner that he was wanted by Ted Turner and Jane Fonda.
The way Tanner remembered it, sounding 77 years young, “Ted said, ‘I want a picture with the three of us,’ and then he turned to Jane and said, ‘This is the man right here who put this thing together, because he’s the one who talked about that we need pitching, pitching, pitching.’ Ted said, ‘I want a picture, because I want to keep this,’ and I never felt better.”
That’s opposed to how awful Tanner felt after he was kicked out of the job of his dreams by the guy that he helped become general manager.
Some guy named Bobby Cox.
Here’s the sequence: In October 1985, Turner paid huge bucks to hire the veteran Tanner to run the Braves after a 96-loss season. Two weeks later, Tanner got a call from Turner. “He said, ‘Hey, Chuck. If Bobby Cox wants to come home, would you mind?” said Tanner, referring to how Cox left to manage the Toronto Blue Jays to prominence after he was fired by Turner four years earlier. “If I would have said no, they wouldn’t have brought [Cox] back to Atlanta, but I said, ‘Nah. That’s fine. Heck, he’s a good guy.’”
Turner had another question for Tanner, something that hasn’t been mentioned publicly before. “Ted said to me, ‘So what do you want to be - the GM or the field manager?’” Tanner recalled. “I said, ‘To start with, I should be on the field. We’re going to have a tough time until we get this thing straightened out,’ and here’s what Ted told me: ‘If you ever want to change, you go ahead and change. You be the GM and let him go down to manage.’”
Cox eventually did “go down” to manage the Braves again, but that was in June of 1990, and he hasn’t left. In contrast, Tanner never managed again after nearly two decades that included a world championship with Pittsburgh’s “We are family” bunch and stints with the Chicago White Sox and Oakland Athletics.
Managing the Braves to glory was Tanner’s obsession, though, especially since he enjoyed his Atlanta years with the Crackers in the early 1950s. He also joined the Milwaukee Braves as a player with Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews. Then came Tanner’s chance with a franchise that he mentioned from the start was “absolutely loaded with talent,” courtesy of former Braves scouting director Paul Snyder. Tanner helped it become even more promising by supporting the 1987 trade that sent Doyle Alexander to the Detroit Tigers for John Smoltz.
Thus Tanner’s seemingly outrageous prediction upon his arrival to town that there would be a parade down Peachtree for the Braves, sooner than later.
“Oh, we would have done it. There’s no question, because I saw everything that would happen,” said Tanner, who works on special projects for the Cleveland Indians that involve little travel from Pittsburgh, where he takes care of his ailing wife. “I don’t know if we would have won 14 divisions, but I’m positive we would have won, because I had my ideas.”
Then Tanner sighed, adding, “Yeah, my heart was hurt when I was fired, because I knew. Just like I know that, even though [the Braves] are having it rough now, they still have a good base of talent to be contenders for many years.”
Well, he was right before.
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Self-destruction at Open
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
Mamaroneck, N.Y. — Seldom, if ever, have so many errant golf shots been struck in the guise of professionalism. Perhaps not since Scottish shepherds first played the game with their herding crooks. Cruel? Maybe, but sorry Tiger Woods couldn’t be here. It would have been less boring, for there would have been somebody to pull for, or against.
This is written here with apology to the United States Golf Association, organizer of the 106th U.S. Open Championship, played across the bedeviling acreage of Winged Foot Golf Club, which has built up quite a reputation for bedevilment over the years. This should not reflect upon the new champion, first Australian who has won the American national championship since David Graham in 1981 at Merion. His name is Geoff Ogilvy, 29 years old, whose registered address is Melbourne, and whose ancestery is purported to be traced all the way back to Robert the Bruce of Scotland.
Ogilvy is not your average off-the-wall flash in the pan. Earlier this year, he won the World Match Play Championship, defeating Davis Love III in the final match. He won previously in the Tucson Chrysler Classic last year, and has finished fifth in the Masters and sixth in the British Open. Nevertheless, he won this major championship because the grounds were littered with casualties of fallen fellow warriors who decorated themselves in shame, bringing to mind the name of the favored Phil Mickelson.
“Lefty” had predicted earlier this week that the winning score would be over par, and indeed it was, as was he, but he was not invited to the winner’s party. He had the lead and looked safely bound for his third major championship in a row — PGA Championship last year and the Masters this year — when he teed his ball to play the 18th hole. You should have seen the expression of horror that creased his face after striking the ball. Mouth agape, “Oh, no!” came forth, if I am not misreading his lips.
The ball struck a merchandise tent and rebounded onto a spectators walkway. His second shot struck a tree, his third nestled in a bunker, his fourth fled across the green into deep rough, and by the time he was through, he had used six strokes to play a par-4 hole. Since his lead had been a single stroke, Ogilvy won the title standing by in the company of his exhilarated wife. His route to the crucial par on the 18th hole had been a delicate one. His approach rolled down a slope off the green, but he then repaired the damage with a chip that came to rest four feet from the pin, and par.
In his own words, Mickelson later said of himself, “I am an idiot.” Who was to dispute him, considering that he had spent more time in the trees than the squirrels? All day long, he hit only two fairways. As the day rumbled along, at one time or another various players had had a taste of the lead, Mickelson, the Irish Padraig Harrington, the Scottish Colin Montgomerie, the lesser known Englishman Kenneth Ferrie, Jim Furyk and Ogilvy. Ferrie, playing alongside Mickelson, was the dark horse of the field, tied with Phil as they began the day. He finished tied for sixth with a handful of others.
I should mention that Ogilvy’s winning score was 285. Par on the exhausting West Course is 280. When Hale Irwin won the Open here in 1974, his score was 7-over par, prompting various pundits to brand that championship “Massacre at Winged Foot.” In contrast, this was more self-destruction.
Montgomerie added a dollop of spice to the event as the close neared. Twice denied a U.S. Open championship, at Oakmont and Congressional, the sometimes pompous Scot birdied the 17th hole and approached the 18th tied for the lead. His approach found thick rough, he pitched out 40 feet across the green, the come-back putt was 10 feet long, and the double bogey took him out.
Not to be overlooked is that David Duval added a round of 71 to his score, finished at 291, in a tie for 16th, giving some signal to his return to form. It was his highest finish in a major event since he won the British Open.
High above at this time, however, where golf is still observed and spoken, there must be some of the old guard gazing on in disbelief. So to say, “Tsk, tsk, what has become of our game.”
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Braves need major trades, therapy
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
Another day, another loss. This isn’t a team any more, it’s a flashback to the Nixon administration (Russ). Lose again Sunday night to Boston and that will make another series sweep. But when you’re coming off being swept by the Marlins, being swept by the Red Sox really isn’t so bad.
These are the Braves now. They’re not the team that found ways to win in 1991 and wore that like a tattoo for 14 seasons. They are the team that has found ways to lose 16 of 19. You expected perhaps a steady decline. You didn’t expect 25 players to collectively take one step off the balcony.
These are the Braves now. They strike out with men on base, when they get men on base. They fall behind early or blow leads late. The bottom has fallen out. It’s as if everything bad that everybody projected would happen to them over this run has happened all at once. The ability to fill in for the free agents who left, to overcome budget cutbacks, to succeed with experiments in the bullpen and a parade of closers — boom! It’s payback time.
This time, it was only 5-3. To Boston. Not so bad. Like a fallen former town bigwig who has been tossed out of the nightclub to the curb, the Braves can say: “Hey, we’ve been thrown out of worst series than this.”
Starting pitcher Lance Cormier gave up a home run to the first Boston hitter, Kevin Youkilis. His replacement, Mike Remlinger, gave up a home run to the first batter he faced, David Ortiz. The crowd went nuts — because half the crowd was Red Sox fans and the other half sat silent, wondering why their team’s general manager, John Schuerholz, hasn’t made a trade yet. It’s either that or wait for a miracle of 1991 proportions.
“Everybody’s trying to be too perfect right now, hitters and pitchers,” Andruw Jones said. “We’re not scoring runs. We’re not getting ahead. That can affect you. When you’re always behind, you’re trying to be perfect and locate pitches, and guys are making mistakes.”
You want the miracle of 1991. You want the team with the history of woe that trailed Los Angeles by 9 1/2 games at the All-Star break to make an unfathomable run. But this is a team with a history of winning making an unfathomable run.
They are now 2-14 in June. The worst month of any Atlanta team in history was 7-19 in July of 1986. Chipper Jones, meet Ken Oberkfell.
Schuerholz said recently that if current statistics should carry weight, “so should the history of this franchise. It’s not a magic wand we get to wave, but we do have confidence that we have the ingredients and the leadership to overcome adversity.”
Sounds comforting. Problem is, there’s no reason to believe the Braves have the ingredients or the leadership. They have players but they also have holes. They have veterans but the clubhouse is woefully thin on take-charge personalities. They are way past the point of, “OK, today it stops.”
Amazingly, the transaction wire remains quiet. Schuerholz has yet to make a trade. He did, however, sign more copies of “Built To Win” before the game. The timing seemed just a little bit off.
Right now, Schuerholz seems like a farmer sitting out on his porch, thinking, “Corn’s always grown in the past. It’ll grow again.” Except that right now, we’re all looking at mutant-looking vegetables and half-dead relievers.
They trailed 3-0 after the third, when Turner Field looked like Fenway South. In the fifth, with the Red Sox up 5-2, the Braves had bases loaded with one out. Then Wilson Betemit and Andruw Jones popped up. With two on and out in the seventh, Edgar Renteria and Betemit struck out.
They had 10 more strikeouts Saturday. That makes 526, give or take a wind gust.
Former Brave Greg Olson was at the game Saturday. He said something strange happened in 1991: The Braves started expecting to win.
“I realize now that baseball is more of a mental game than you ever realize when you’re playing,” he said.
If that’s true, the Braves have passed the stage of needing just therapy and incense. They must say one thing but believe another. They have transitioned from a headache to a severe personality disorder.
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Duval’s magic short-lived
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
Mamaroneck, N.Y. — After the arousal inspired by his round of 68 Friday, low score of the day, there was promise that David Duval was on his way back, if not already there. For the moment, he could fill the void left in the 106th U.S. Open by Tiger Woods, an absence extravagantly mourned by the regional media. Duval had found apparent comfort back in harness with the coach of his Georgia Tech days, Puggy Blackmon. It had not, however, softened the bite in his attitude toward the press, which he appears to view as unbearable.
“I guess you haven’t been listening,” Duval said rather snippily in answer to a question about the state of his game. “I’ve been saying that for I don’t know how long, and nobody seems to listen. I’ll say it again: I’m playing well. I made some putts, and the little things added up a bit better today than they have for the past six months.”
Though that self-analysis might have begged further examination, the interview moved forward with just one biting retort about having finally made a cut in a major championship for the first time since the PGA Championship four years ago. “I guess that’s the difference between you and me,” he answered. “I don’t think that way.”
Taking to the course Saturday afternoon, paired with Mike Weir of Canada, both 5 over par, there was no doubt that this was Duval’s gallery. They squeezed in tight, lining both sides of the fairway, and they filled the air with exhortations for him, the old “go get ‘em, David” kind of stuff. When he saved par with a 20-foot putt on the second green — a portrait of beauty, shadowed by a huge elm —there was a brief outbreak of optimism and more encouraging yowls. It was if they were looking for somebody to cheer in Tiger Woods’ absence, as when one small voice cried out, “C’mon, David, the British Open,” however that might be translated.
Duval’s response was a wave of the hand, not ready yet to accept this renewed relationship.
This would all be short-lived, as he turned the front nine losing four more strokes, but even with two birdies on the back side, the glitter of the Friday round faded away. From 5 over to 10 over. He has confirmed that he will return to the British Open, at Hoylake, for the fifth and last year of exemption that came with his last winning championship in 2001.
Meanwhile, the leaderboard was a splatter of change, movement up and down, like stock market quotations on a partcularly sensitive day. The galleries still couldn’t quite get a grip on Steve Stricker, what to make of a player who only last winter was straggling through qualifying school just a few seasons after ranking fourth on the PGA Tour. Phil Mickelson was up and down and all over the place, but still keeping the leaders in gunsight, and closing in the Winged Foot dusk.
Strangely enough, Colin Montgomerie had found supporters after years of claptrap exchanges with galleries from coast to coast. He had started the round a shot behind Stricker, but by the fourth hole he had lost four strokes and was finding Winged Foot as wretched as that of the “massacre of ‘74.”
Just when it seemed nobody was capable of winning this championship, Mickelson began to steady his ship and show signs of taking matters in hand. This is not to ignore the 27-year-old Englishman, Kenneth Ferrie, winner of the European Open last year. He persisted in holding firm and firming up his bid to join the choir of majors champions that have arisen from obscurity to fame on this side of the water or the other. To wit, Paul Lawrie, Ben Curtis and Todd Hamilton, upset winners of the British Open; Rich Beem and Shaun Micheel, winners of the PGA Championship, and Michael Campbell, who returned to his place in golf’s oblivion Friday.
So we all await the climax of this fairy tale today. Heaven knows who or how, if Mickelson will tighten his grip on the brass ring, or if, as in 1974, some player will come off the back row and win at several strokes over par. That champion was only beginning to establish his ground. Hale Irwin would win three U.S. Opens before he was through.
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Losing arrives with a thud for Braves
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
These are uncharted waters. The Braves as we’ve come to know them have never been this far back, have never seemed so addled. We know the Braves know how to handle winning, but a team that has won forever can’t possibly know how to handle losing.
And that’s why we’re seeing what we’re seeing — hitters who’ve posted the third-most strikeouts in the National League; a bullpen that has no reliables and therefore no roles; a rotation in which only one pitcher has a winning record; a defense that has yielded more unearned runs than any NL team except Cincinnati. We’re seeing a team that is both trying too hard and doing too little, and we’re hearing indications that the strains are showing.
Mike Remlinger, who can be prickly, threw a ball away and lost a game in Florida this week, and afterward he hinted that Chipper Jones should have overridden the bad throw by making like Stretch McCovey. This was so un-Braves-like as to generate headlines in this paper, and to make Bobby Cox — who maintained he still didn’t know the particulars of Remlinger’s “Ask Chipper if it was catchable” quote — to issue this pronouncement of his own: “We don’t point fingers in the newspaper.”
They haven’t, no. But maybe they do now. Maybe the indignity of playing for the league’s biggest winner and seeing it morph into a shockingly inept loser is changing the dynamics. Maybe the Braves, who have long prided themselves on running a better clubhouse than anyone else, are discovering that enough losses — after Friday’s perfunctory loss to Boston, they’ve dropped 15 of 18 — will make even the Sunshine Boys turn surly.
We come now to a point in a Braves’ season that we haven’t known since Jeff Francouer was in first grade. We come to the point where a team must decide if it’s going to coalesce or cut and run. Other teams reach such lines of demarcation on a regular basis, but things have gone so smoothly here for so outrageously long that the Braves haven’t ever felt the chilly fingers of desperation.
“I fear the young guys might not know how to react,” said Chipper Jones, an older guy who hasn’t finished anywhere but first as a big-leaguer. Not since 1990 have the Braves been so far behind as to have no hope, but they’re close. The Mets are all but uncatchable atop the East, and to claim the wild card the Braves would have to pass exactly half the 16-team league.
We come to that point where you wonder if the Braves remember that they’re still the Braves, that they bear not just the expectation of winning but the responsibility to carry themselves in a way befitting baseball’s most admired organization. It’s one thing to lose because you’re not good enough, quite another to lose because you decide winning is just too hard.
“They will always be professionals,” Cox said Friday. “If not, they won’t play — that’s for damn sure. This is where we find out who wants to play.”
Asked if he was mad, Cox said: “A little bit. I’m mad at certain situations. You can’t get mad if you know guys are trying their best.”
We’ll soon learn what the Braves themselves think of this team and its chances. The trading deadline is 6 1/2 weeks away, and it’s not possible to know if the Braves would be buyers or sellers. “We will be one or the other,” John Schuerholz said. “But I have to tell you that [the notion of dumping players] is a foreign concept.”
There’s no such thing as a pretty end to a splendid run. When you win for a long time, losing always arrives with a thud. These past three weeks have been so wretched as to make you believe the Braves have misplaced every insight gleaned over the past 15 years. There mightn’t be enough time or enough talent to make even a wild-card run, but there’s enough of both for these guys to show the pride that should be sewn into their famous uniform. If they’re going to go down, at least go down fighting. At least go down like Braves.
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Stricker dooms Tiger’s weekend
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
Mamaroneck, N.Y. – With one swing of the sharply angled club, his 69th of the day, Steve Stricker made U.S. Open history, as some golf historians put it Friday. With that swing of his sand-iron, out of a bunker by the 9th green, he effectively eliminated Tiger Woods from the U.S. Open Championship at Winged Foot.
Tiger missed the cut! That was the news of the day in Westchester County. Woods had never missed a 36-hole cut in all the majors he has played as a professional, here or abroad. Thus was snuffed out the major news source of this 106th national championship of golf, smothered for days beneath the deluge of exhilaration over Woods’ return to the game, and the drawn-out mourning in print over the death of Earl Woods, his father, nine weeks ago.
Check here the expansive comment of the defending champion, Michael Campbell of New Zealand, who also missed the cut, playing in Woods’ group. “I mean, God,” he said, “you’ve got to give him credit for actually turning up.”
Stricker had been the first player off the tee Friday, beginning at par and plying an even course into the 9th hole, where he found himself in a greenside bunker. He had started on the back nine, and at this juncture found his way back to par. The line to the pin was at a hard angle, leaving him little green to the target.
“Truthfully, I was just trying to get it on the green,” he said. “I caught it perfect, and it checked and rolled right down [to the hole].”
Actually, the ball took a couple of bounces and rolled straight in. Stricker was now 1 under par. Playing five groups behind him, Woods was then 10 under par, and even under the USGA championship rule that allows any player 10 strokes or closer from the lead after 36 holes to continue play, he was closed out – unless he converted a birdie somewhere on the way. Instead, he bogeyed the 8th and for all intents and purposes, surrendered on the 9th where he bogeyed again. He was now 12 over par, and unless the field ahead of him was stricken with some dreadful affliction, Woods was done, and he knew it.
As he plodded heavily down the 9th fairway, some pained voice rang out, “Thanks, Tiger. Thank you, Tiger,” with the ring of sincere appreciation, not a sarcastic dismissal.
It had been a strange quietly peaceful gallery, barely a sound, save for the shuffling of feet and the occasional collision of bodies. None of the usual cries of exhortation, “C’mon, Tiger!” “Go get ‘em, Tiger,” for they knew it was done.
Tiger himself pronounced his own benediction later, when he said, “I was not ready for golf.” His extended home on water, a spacious yacht called “Privacy,” is docked on Long Island Sound, and there is the prospect that it is there he may be found the next few days. The last lingering sign of his entourage was that of his caddie, Steve Williams, in his short trousers, disappearing into the players’ parking lot, Woods’ Buick golf bag across his back.
On the other hand, there was rejuvenation in the story of Steve Stricker, though one would hardly single out Winged Foot as a course to relocate your game. Once Stricker ranked fourth on the PGA Tour, and still later, won the World Match Play Championships at Carlsbad. But then came recession, and after his three-year exemption that came with the Match Play Championship ran out in 2004, he has been without a tour card. The gossip was that after winning the match play title, he switched equipment connections, and he and his new gear never hit it off.
Stricker is a native of Wisconsin, 39 years old and a player on the PGA Tour since 1990. Once one of the brighter prospects on the tour, it all got away from him after the most accomplished victory of his career. Here today, gone tomorrow, as they say, and the mystery is, where did it go?
“I am in a good position,” he said, “but, you know, I need to work on some things on the range, some things I didn’t do so well coming in.”
When last seen, Stricker was toiling away in the unseasonably hot sun on the practice range. Tiger Woods was on his way to no one knew where, but a few days on “Privacy” sounded like a comforting destination.
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Carolina success amplifies Thrashers’ failures
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
A hockey team off the Florida coast won the last Stanley Cup. A hockey team on Tobacco Road is on the verge of winning the next Stanley Cup.
What to do first if you live in Atlanta?
Laugh at Canada or scream about the Thrashers?
General manager Don Waddell joked Thursday that “redneck hockey” has taken over Raleigh. Tailgating scenes at Carolina Hurricanes games have resembled those of college football. Capacity crowds are commonplace in Tampa, and it’s getting there in Raleigh. “Yankee flatball” has consumed two Southeastern markets.
But if you’re Waddell’s Thrashers, this doesn’t merely scream, “We’re next.” It amplifies their failures. There have been six seasons over seven years, with no playoffs and a fragile fan base to show for it.
People talk about the pressure on Hawks general manager Billy Knight. What about the pressure on Waddell?
Over the Thrashers’ six-season existence, only one other franchise has failed to make the playoffs (Columbus is 0-for-5). Nashville has been a playoff team the past two seasons after failing in five tries.
Nashville. Tampa Bay. Carolina. This market dwarfs them all. But the hockey team continues to take a back seat. No playoffs and only occasional sellouts.
It has happened there — why not here?
“There’s no reason why it can’t,” said Waddell.
He generally comes armed with statistics in interviews, and this was no exception: “All four teams in the final four this year — Anaheim, Edmonton, Carolina and Buffalo — miss the playoffs the [season] before. That just tells you all you have to do is get to the dance. Once you’re there, anything can happen.” “If only we had only made it …” It’s the loser’s lament.
Carolina? The Thrashers went 4-3-1 against the Hurricanes this season. They beat them 9-0 — in Raleigh. They beat them twice in April. “If only …”
There are two schools of thought on Waddell. One: Six seasons and no playoffs? Goodbye. Two: Personnel moves always can be debated. A late-season pointless streak buried the team’s postseason hopes. But the bottom line is the Thrashers finished two points out of a playoff spot with their starting goalie (Kari Lehtonen) missing 41 games.
They were sloppy and received poor goaltending in a must-win game at Washington. The loss sealed their fate. Waddell: “We’ve had lots of low points here. But as far as on-ice activities, this year was by far the low point of my career.”
Excuses?
“There are none,” he said. “It is what it is. We had things to overcome. In the end, we didn’t get the job done.”
He’ll take the hit. Miss the playoffs again, he’ll take a zillion more. This offseason, he has re-signed the team’s best defenseman, Niclas Havelid. But significant problems remain. For starters: a No. 1 center.
Marc Savard? He’s gone. That’s not something a general manager is going to make official before the start of a free-agency period. But if Waddell really planned to re-sign Savard, he would have made a significant attempt by now (as with Havelid). Even if Savard doesn’t get the $5 million per year he thinks he’s getting in free agency, he’ll get more than the Thrashers will pay.
Even Waddell’s diplomatic analysis can’t hide the obvious: “The market for Savard is one we probably can’t afford to be in. We already have two $6 million players [Ilya Kovalchuk and Marian Hossa].”
This is post-lockout economics. Savard was the Thrashers’ No. 1 assist man and second-leading scorer last season. There’s a belief internally on the team that any decent center with Kovalchuk and/or Hossa will produce. But you don’t easily replace 97 points. Waddell is taking a risk.
The Thrashers also need a backup goalie. And a solid defenseman. They will try to move one of three $2 million defensemen (Jaroslav Modry, Greg de Vries or Andy Sutton). There’s also a first-round draft pick to dangle as trade bait.
Everybody is watching. And waiting. Again.
“I’d like to have a so-called ‘regular’ season without obstacles, instead of what we’ve had the last three or four years,” Waddell said. “If we do, we’ll be in the playoffs.
“I’ve lived with that pressure every day since I’ve been here. So this is no different.”
Except when you look at Carolina and Tampa, it is a little different. It has been done in the South, just not here.
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Love can’t find magic this time
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
Mamaroneck, N.Y. — There were proceedings taking place that disputed the popular media projection that this U.S. Open is somewhat more than two-man match play between Phil Mickelson and Tiger Woods. And that the mourning for Woods’ father had run overtime. There were 154 other players in the field at Winged Foot Golf Club, all with grief of their own and personal agendas, among them Davis Love III, who has known what it is to win a tournament on these classic grounds in Westchester County, more than your average county, but a commonwealth of some of America’s most elegant estates.
This has not been the kind of year that Love would press, like a rose, between the pages of his diary. On the PGA Tour, his best finish has been a tie for 12th in the Ford Championship at Doral. There was the redeeming feature of reaching the final of the World Match Play Championship, reaping a reward of $750,000. Otherwise, his take-home loot is just over a half-million bucks.
The day at Winged Foot began bogey-double bogey, a front nine 4-over par, two more bogeys and another double bogey on the back nine, and a round of 76. This was not Davis Love golf. So much more is expected of him, another major championship to go with his PGA title, won on this same course in 1997. He has reached the critical point in which he needs to start picking up shots rather than giving them away.
“I got it back to 1-over par on the front nine with two birdies, but then hit one bad shot, and that led to another.” Triple bogey at the 9th, and 39 at the turn. Par on this course, designed by A.W. Tillinghast, considered the equal of Donald Ross in his time, is 35 per side.
“Give me three swings over per round, my dad used to say, and I’ll win the tournament,” Love said. “Well, I could have used those three swings today.”
Love is not one to give into depression. Any suggestions that “this must be tearing at your innards” simply gets waved off. “No, it’s not Davis Love golf, but I keep a positive outlook. It’s a pretty simple tournament: You hit the ball in the fairway, you hit the green, and you putt. But I’m not doing that.”
Love, too, has lost his father, in a sudden and most shocking tragedy. A private plane crashed, taking the lives of Love Jr. and two associated professionals. Quite a bit was made of him, the son of a PGA professional, winning the PGA Championship on this course in 1997, a scene eerily decorated by a sudden rainbow that graced the scene at the 18th green.
As his threesome, including Justin Leonard, who was with Love in the final pairing in 1997, approached the 18th tee, the wind freshened a bit at their backs. Love’s approach was a striking shot that came to rest about five feet below the pin. He made the putt and, as they say, there’s nothing like a good finish to bring you back tomorrow.
“Did any of those thoughts of the PGA Championship run through your mind on that hole?” he was asked.
“It’s always nice to come back to where you’ve played well,” he said. He would have none of that. “I’m not that sentimental about something like that. Memories ain’t gonna do it. You need to get back to what you were doing right.”
Besides, he concluded, it’s not the same course. “It’s playing harder than it did then.” And so we drew the curtain on another day in which the pursuit of former excellence continued.
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: Furman Bisher
Having a ball with the Cup
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
I’m not a morning person, and I’m not much of a TV person, either. But every morning I watch the World Cup, and every afternoon, too. The days I’ve tried to stop watching have produced the most riveting finishes of the tournament — Australia scoring three goals in the last eight minutes; Saudi Arabia scoring the apparent winner only to be matched by Tunisia’s even later equalizer. So now I’m hooked for the duration.
I’ve even developed a system. When Dave O’Brien is calling a match for ESPN or ABC, I switch to Univision. Do I speak Spanish? Why, no. But I’d rather understand next to nothing than to listen to someone who knows less about soccer than I do. I’ll flip over at halftime for the analysis — Eric Wynalda is rather good — and then back to Univision for the second half.
Sometimes, just for variety, I’ll hit the TV mute button and listen to the play-by-play on XM radio. This can be confusing, given that the satellite radio feed takes longer to bounce back to Earth and runs about 10 seconds behind the televised action, but when there are three games every day you have to mix it up.
The highlight of the tournament to date has been Shaka Hislop in goal for Trinidad and Tobago against Sweden. I’ve liked Shaka Hislop for years — he plays for West Ham in England, and West Ham has always been my second-favorite side after Manchester United — but he’s considered past his prime now and started only because the No. 1 T&T keeper hurt himself in warmups. But Hislop, on cue, was fabulous, keeping a clean sheet for the smallest nation in the field.
The lowlight? Well, the U.S. loss to the Czech Republic was bad, but I can’t say I was all that surprised. Even though many observers in this country believed the U.S. performance in the 2002 World Cup was a sign of greater things to come, I’ve tended to believe that much of what happened in Korea and Japan — Argentina, Portugal and France being eliminated in the group stages, the U.S. reaching the quarterfinals, South Korea and Turkey making the semis — was an aberration. I think the U.S. is getting better every year, but I still think it has years to work before it can approach the better European sides.
No, the real lowlight has been Ronaldo. He is, not to put too fine a point on it, fat. He did nothing against Croatia, and by nothing I mean he didn’t even trouble himself to run. When mercifully he was pulled, Brazil finally started to look like Brazil. But I think the controversy over what to do what the famous Ronaldo will undo Brazil in this tournament, much as it did when an obviously out-of-sorts Ronaldo was allowed to play against France in the 1998 World Cup final. (France won 3-nil.) I’m one of those who believes the world’s best team will not win the 2006 World Cup.
So who will? When in doubt, go with the host nation. Even Germans hated this German team coming into the World Cup, but after two rousing wins they’ve begun to believe. And so have I. As they say in their anthem: Deutschland Uber Alles.
Permalink | Comments (14) | Categories: Mark Bradley, Quick Hit
Here’s hoping Winged Foot still has plenty of kick
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
Before trundling off to the U.S. Open at Winged Foot Golf Club in New York, I have some catching up to do. Mainly, it’s sort of tidying up a melange of topics that are close to the heart, or have slipped by without close personal attention. That said, we’ll lead off with a subject relating to the Open:
• No one in this country has ever written on golf with the aplomb and skill of Herbert Warren Wind, and no U.S. Open course has aroused more commotion than Winged Foot in 1974, about to be broached again, and that includes the blather at Shinnecock Hills two years ago. Hale Irwin only had to shoot 7 over par to win in 1974, and there had been nothing close to such a debacle since Sam Parks won at 11 over par at Oakmont in 1935. Irwin’s score harked back to the days of brassies, niblicks, mashies and such. The players were appalled, felt insulted.
So Herb Wind took his typewriter in hand and addressed the matter, “which created more controversy than any Open course in years.”
“Many observers and players felt that it was demanding to the point of being unfair. I was a member of a group that saw it somewhat differently. The U.S. Open course, I think, should provide a hard test — the hardest test our golfers meet each year. While there were a few aspects of the way the course was set up that seemed overdone, my basic feeling was that scores ran high as they did mainly because the field did not perform well.”
Ouch! Old Herb really knew how to hit ‘em where it hurt.
When the Open was next played at Winged Foot 10 years later, the winning score improved from 287 to 276. In 1974, for example, Jack Nicklaus three-putted three of the first four holes the last round. After all the bawling of the past, it is to be hoped the USGA hasn’t gone soft again. Play away, gentlemen!
• It may surely have escaped your attention, for horses don’t get much space around here, that there has been an outburst of Georgia Bulldog in the Dogwood Stable. A few years ago, Stablemaster Cot Campbell named a colt Trippi, for the great Georgia back. Trippi finished fourth in the Kentucky Derby, later retired to stud, sired a pair in his own image, one named Sinkwich, for Frank, who won the Heisman, then another who was named Poschner, for George, a great end severely wounded in WWII.
Well, last Saturday, Sinkwich won the first race on Belmont Day, paying a nice price. Poschner has still to get to the track, just a 2-year-old, but he and Sinkwich are full brothers, and the Dogwood hope is that the Trippi blood runs thick. It does sound bit odd when at the track the breeding is announced and it comes out, “Sinkwich, sired by Trippi.”
• Last week, a dear friend of mine and a treasured friend of the state of North Carolina passed away. I can only make a weak pass at reporting on the things Hugh Morton did for his home state. He owned a mountain, Grandfather Mountain, bequeathed by his grandfather, where he gave impetus to hang gliding; he was an avid but sensible environmentalist; his blood ran Tar Heel blue, and he turned an avocation into an art. For years he traveled about shooting pictures for my sports section at Charlotte, when the going rate was $3 a shot.
Later, he published two exquisite books of photography, the first titled “Hugh Morton’s North Carolina.” His hand could be found at nearly every turn in the Blue Ridge, and no man ever had more Tar Heel friends. His career took one left turn: when he ran for governor — briefly — until he found out how sordid politics can be. Any state needs a Hugh Morton, only North Carolina was that lucky.
• You can’t appreciate how harrowing it can be covering an international sports event until you’ve read Mike Knobler’s e-mail from Germany. Press journalists have been relegated to the state of herded chattel at such events as the World Cup. Where once they were courted and given stage status, they are now shuffled about and denied access to the story. International officials have turned prostitute. Television pays, television rules. A once glamorous assignment has now become garbage collecting.
• One parting thought; For his own sake please get Chris Reitsma out of town before it’s too late. The man is in misery. Anguish is etched in his face. He can pitch. But not here, and not as a closer. What about the new TV thing, “The Closer?” Might that be his call. Just kidding.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: Furman Bisher, Golf
CWS links Tech to UGA — again
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
The Louisville broadcaster Jock Sutherland once described the frustration of having to live alongside the hugely popular Kentucky Wildcats: “You could be in a hole at the center of the world with five other people, and one of them would be waving a pennant and saying, ‘Go Big Blue.’ “
Omaha, Neb., is not to be confused with a hole in the ground. It’s the site of the College World Series, where most every amateur baseball player dreams of going. Georgia Tech is going. So, almost inevitably, is Georgia.
You have to feel for Tech. Its baseball program is a model of consistency, having missed the NCAA tournament once since 1985. Georgia, by way of contrast, alternates big seasons with lesser ones — the Bulldogs have graced consecutive NCAA tournaments only once in their existence — but which side has reached Omaha more often? (Georgia has qualified five times, Tech three.) Which side has won a national championship? (Georgia, in 1990.) Which side has eliminated the other more often in NCAA play? (Georgia has ousted Tech three times; Tech has dismissed the Bulldogs once.)
“That’s just the way baseball runs,” said Jonathan Wyatt, the Georgia left fielder from Kennesaw. “Tech has been a top-line program since I can remember. We get hot toward the end of the year, which is the best time. Tech stays hot all year and comes up a little short.”
Mike Trapani is Tech’s second baseman. He lives in Dunwoody and played at Marist, so he has been around Bulldogs all his life. He’s a Tech guy now — a Tech grad, actually — but at no time in his life has he been a Georgia backer. “I’m a die-hard Auburn fan,” he said. “Auburn and Jordan-Hare Stadium have a special place in my heart.”
So does the memory of last season’s epic Georgia-Auburn football game, the Tigers winning by a point after the Brandon Cox slant pass to Devin Aromashodu on fourth-and-10 and Courtney Taylor’s subsequent recovery of Aromashodu’s fumble. “There’s nothing better than hearing all [Georgia’s] fans [whining] and moaning,” Trapani said. “I have to listen to all the buddies I grew up with talking about how Georgia’s going to win the national championship every year, and I never say a word.”
About baseball, Trapani is more circumspect. The Tech-Georgia collisions, while fun for fans, aren’t quite as meaningful. The teams meet in separate midweek installments, including one at Turner Field. (Georgia took two of three this season.) Neither deploys its best pitchers, saving them for the weekend conference games. “It’s a shame we don’t play on the weekend,” Trapani said. “I know the fans would show up.”
As it happens, Tech and Georgia could well play a best-of-three series for the national title. (The schools can’t meet in Omaha before then.) Even though the Jackets, who haven’t yet lost in this NCAA tournament, are playing as well as any team in the land, the Bulldogs, who have faced four elimination games already, take special pleasure in defying form. When last they met in the postseason, Georgia won a 2004 super regional on Tech’s field. “That was a great weekend,” Wyatt said. The Jackets enjoyed it rather less.
According to Wyatt, there’s “no hatred” between the teams. “That’s more for the fans.” But how could the men who represent the state’s best baseball program not feel a measure of resentment toward the team that pops up more often than its pedigree suggests it should?
According to Trapani, the Tech players didn’t pause to watch Georgia beat South Carolina on Monday night, convening instead at a steakhouse for a celebratory dinner. “It really didn’t matter [whether Georgia or South Carolina] won,” Trapani said. “They’re on the other side of the bracket.”
And that’s true. But the Jackets also have to share a state with those infernal Bulldogs, and now they’ll have to share the College World Series.
Your opinion
Permalink | Comments (63) | Categories: Mark Bradley, Tech / ACC, UGA / SEC
The Tuesday Countdown
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
10: I’m not going to suddenly act like a soccer expert and express outrage that the U.S. could lose its first World Cup game 3-0 to the Czech Republic. But for the coach, Bruce Arena, to accept no blame and hang his players out to dry after that opener is weak.
9: OK. Now we can go back to not caring about soccer again.
8: I didn’t play pro football. But I did ride a motorcycle. It was my primary mode of transportation for two years. (My rebel days.) I wore a helmet. How Ben Roethlisberger just won a Super Bowl should go down as one of the great miracles of science - because the man’s an idiot.
7: You know, you get past the whole, “A helmet just doesn’t look cool” thing real quick when your face suddenly looks like a ball of Playdough that was run over by a Winnebago.
6: I hope the woman whose car Roethlisberger hit has 24/7 security at her house. Given your average Steelers fan, she might as well be a member of Al-Qaeda.
5: Duke’s J.J. Redick was arrested for a DUI a few weeks before the NBA draft. Must’ve still been distraught over the lacrosse team.
4: Carolina is about to become the second straight team from the southeast (Tampa Bay) to win the Stanley Cup. If you’re wondering how this is going over in Toronto, imagine somebody from New Jersey coming down here and winning a barbeque contest.
3: Heather Mills is suing a tabloid for claiming she was a prostitute in her younger days. Let’s see: She’s 38 and could make $360 million by divorcing Paul McCartney, 63, after a four-year marriage. Hmmm.
2: Does McCartney wear a helmet?
1: I’m normally not one to pump college baseball. But with two schools (Tech and Georgia) in the College World Series and the Braves dropping to Division III, this might be a good time to pay attention.
Permalink | Comments (23) | Categories: Jeff Schultz, Quick Hit
Time not on Braves’ side
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
John Schuerholz somewhat confirmed Monday that his baseball team has turned into rotting smelt, though he was nice enough not to use those words because he answers to corporate weasels (unlike myself).
He also gave me an exclusive peek into what goes on behind the scenes of a baseball team gone stinky, divulging: “There are a lot of desks belonging to a lot of general managers right now that have my number sitting on it for return calls.”
The way I figure it, he must not be close to a big trade. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have time to call me back, and I don’t have a leadoff hitter, pitcher or Valium to part with.
Methinks nobody wants to help your Atlanta Braves.
For the better part of 15 years, Schuerholz has done things from a position of strength. When a team wins and has a history of winning, it allows a general manager to pace himself. He plugs holes and spackles cracks at a leisurely pace. His pace. He waits, and waits, and waits, and waits, until just before the trade deadline when he swings the deal you’ve been screaming about for six weeks.
But now Schuerholz lacks his constant sidekick: time.
There are two things that generally don’t intersect in baseball: “June” and “Over.” But the Braves started Monday twice the distance from the first-place Mets (10 games) as the last-place-Marlins (five). Florida’s payroll ($15 million) is one-sixth of Atlanta’s ($80 million). That tends to jolt the system.
“We didn’t have to see the games behind in the newspaper to know the situation,” Schuerholz said. “We’re all befuddled by what’s happened. We came out of training feeling good about the team, though with the knowledge that we might have to do something to rearrange the bullpen. But if you look at the evidence now, it may suggest that more needs to be done than just that.”
Some options involve weapons.
A general manager never wants anybody to think he lacks leverage, even when it’s obvious he does.
Everybody knows the Braves need bullpen help.
Everybody knows they need a competent starter.
Everybody knows Marcus Giles is a disaster as a leadoff hitter, and neither his glove nor his salary suggest he should be kept. (I know. He gets his uniform dirty. Guess what? Trade for someone else and I’ll provide free dirt.)
When everybody knows you’re desperate, the price goes up. So Schuerholz reacts accordingly when asked if he has to make a trade.
“We never have to make a trade,” he said. “But we’d like to.”
That’s cute. But he does have to.
Yesterday.
The Braves are free of incurable diseases. That’s the good news.
I know. We in the media spend too much time harping on the negative. But it has been 13 years since the Braves had to make up 10 games in the standings. Yes, in that 1993 season, they won 104 games. It was the franchise’s first 100-win season since the 1898 Boston Beaneaters won 102. But 1993 is no more relevant than 1898.
David Justice is not walking through that door.
Chris Reitsma is walking into it.
In 1993, the Braves had a starting rotation of Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, John Smoltz, Steve Avery and Pete Smith. As an added bonus, it didn’t have Jorge Sosa.
Those Braves had two competent closers, Mike Stanton (27 saves) and Greg McMichael (19). The bullpen had an ERA of 3.15. This bullpen has a nice bonus in Ken Ray. But a bonus is not a foundation. This bullpen entered Monday with an ERA of 5.12 and has allowed 23 home runs. The ‘93 bullpen allowed 19 home runs all season.
That team had Otis Nixon to lead off. This team has Giles, who is hitting .235 with an on-base percentage of .328 (10th among position players).
In 1993, Schuerholz swung arguably the best trade of his tenure. San Diego’s Fred McGriff came here. Melvin Nieves and junk went there.
The day of McGriff’s debut, the press box caught on fire. Dangling participles leaped to their death. Then McGriff slammed a home run against St. Louis to ignite an eight-run rally and an 8-5 win. The Braves were saved. They went 51-17 to close the season.
Now, McGriff is gone. The stadium is gone. Hope is on a respirator. Thus far, Schuerholz has done nothing. Waiting this out is only creating a stronger stench.
Permalink | Comments (206) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Jeff Schultz
Meyer ready to raise the bar
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
By the usual standards, Urban Meyer had a great first season. His Florida Gators beat Tennessee, beat Georgia, beat Florida State, beat Iowa in the Outback Bowl. But Florida also managed to miss the SEC title game because it lost to Steve Spurrier, which meant the old measures didn’t fully apply.
Did losing to Spurrier and South Carolina affix a small asterisk to an otherwise heartening season? No, said Meyer. “A big one.” So give him credit for candor.
Also give him credit for being cool — literally. On Sunday he addressed the Atlanta Gator Club wearing khaki shorts. In his prepared remarks, Meyer bluntly told the gathering of 600 that Florida was “not a great program.” (He added: “We’re going to get there.”) He also conceded the drought — five years and counting — since the Gators last played for the SEC championship was simply unacceptable.
Is this the year it ends? (Preseason consensus has Florida No. 1 in the SEC East and among the nation’s 10 best teams.) Not willing to clamber onto a Donnan-like limb, Meyer went mum. Asked by a Gator Clubber about the odds of Florida playing in the Georgia Dome on Dec. 2, the coach said: “I’m not going to answer that.”
Earlier, in a quickie interview conducted outside the Cobb Galleria Centre, Meyer said he’d put his team “right in the middle of the pack” in the East. But middle-of-the-pack is where the overmatched Ron Zook kept finishing, which is why Meyer now has his job.
Last season, Meyer said, was “a learning experience for everyone involved.” His vaunted spread offense didn’t function nearly as well in a conference where defenders can really run. (The Gators finished 61st nationally in total offense.) Many believe the smallish dropback passer Chris Leak is the wrong sort of quarterback to oversee the spread, a notion with which Meyer quibbles.
Asked if Leak would be the guy he’d choose if college coaches got to draft players, Meyer said: “I’ve got to be careful how I answer this. He had a great spring, so I’d say he would be. But we’ve got to do a better job of doing what he does well.”
There are places where going 9-3 would buy a first-year head coach a hasty extension — hello, Charlie Weis — but Florida is no longer one of those. The Gators expect greatness from all their teams. Indeed, Meyer was scheduled to address the Atlanta Gator Club on Saturday, April 1, but the convocation was postponed because that happened to be the date of the Final Four.
“Are we now a basketball school?” said Meyer, who sat in the RCA Dome as the Gators took their title. “We’ve got a volleyball coach who has won like 15 SEC titles in a row, and she thinks we’re a damn volleyball school.” And the football program? “Everything is in place to win.”
The schedule is harder: Florida faces road tests at Tennessee and Auburn and Florida State. But recruiting seemed to go swimmingly, and Meyer has gotten glowing reports on offseason conditioning. “We’re not having to convince guys to work hard,” he said.
This could well be a return-to-glory season for the once-mighty Gators, but if last year convinced Meyer of anything it’s that the SEC has more skeptics per capita than any league in the land.
“I wasn’t quite prepared for the opinionated officials,” he told the crowd, and then he recounted a moment from the Georgia game.
The Bulldogs had cut a 14-point deficit to four and the Gators, needing a play to change the dynamics, faced fourth-and-inches. So Meyer told the nearest ref, “If we don’t get the [Georgia alignment] we want, I’m going to burn a timeout. I’ve got a fake punt called. And he looks at me like, ‘You’re running a fake punt?’ “
Long story short: The fake punt worked and Florida won and the official stopped with the incredulous looks. And that’s the nature of the business. Win the SEC East and nobody will look askance at this coach and his spread offense. Lose to Steve Spurrier enough times and Urban Meyer will be looking for work.
Permalink | Comments (45) | Categories: Mark Bradley, UGA / SEC
Jackets now need to win one
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
As the healthy remainder of Georgia Tech’s baseball team staged a celebration dog pile near the pitcher’s mound Saturday, Danny Hall stood back and tried not to flash back.
Another win. Another trip to Omaha. Another chance. One step at a time — isn’t that what he keeps telling his players? He shows them the pyramid at the start of the season. He preaches one pitch at a time, one game, one series. Eventually, you get to Omaha. Forget last week or last year. Or in Hall’s case, the last several.
“[Former athletics director] Homer Rice told me the first year I was here, when we played for the national championship, he said, ‘You really screwed up. Now the expectations of you and your team are going to be so high — I don’t know if you’ll survive,’ ” Hall said Saturday.
“He said it jokingly. But he might’ve been right.”
Hall has survived. For the seventh time in his coaching career and the third time at Tech, he has helped a school get to the College World Series.
Sure would be nice to win one.
If the Jackets win in Omaha, Hall said his “first emotion would be elation, not relief.” I’m thinking it’s more like 50-50. Climbing so many layers of that pyramid without kissing the top can wear on a man.
Maybe this Georgia Tech team will be different. It certainly has operated differently. It has endured a dog pile of injuries to reach the final eight. It has won five straight in the tournament, punctuating this run Saturday with a 12-3 win over College of Charleston.
The Yellow Jackets are 17-4 since May.
They’re doing this despite being — as one friend of Hall’s text-messaged him Friday — “the best one-legged team” anybody has ever seen.
Jeff Kindel, the left fielder who hit a two-run homer Saturday, is playing with a torn knee ligament. Wes Hodges, the designated hitter who drove in two runs, has a stress fracture in his lower leg. Second baseman Mike Trapani has a sprained knee. Pitcher Tim Gustafson (shoulder) might not make it to Omaha. And did we mention the starting center fielder, Danny Payne, was lost for the season?
A few players were told to avoid the postgame pile-up. Duh.
Pitcher Lee Hyde said a few of them “just kind of hugged each other.”
Resilience counts for something. If this Jackets team accomplishes something none of its predecessors have, there’s a reason.
“We have a lot of intangibles,” Hall said. “Their competitive spirit, their courage. That’s not to take anything away from the other two teams that went out there. But it just seems like we have more unselfish guys who love to compete.”
Hall admits history has built a mental block with his players. He said, “It’s something we try to deflate.”
The question is how he gets past it himself. As an assistant coach with Michigan, he made it to the College World Series in four out of his first five seasons there. The Wolverines whiffed each time.
Tech has reached the CWS twice, once in Hall’s first season in 1994 (runner-up) and again in 2002 (fifth place). It had lost in the super regional the past two seasons.
Few college programs can claim such a rich baseball tradition, but one so often diluted by a season-ending loss. This is the Jackets’ 21st tournament appearance in the past 22 years. But the end result has been two trips to Omaha, one final appearance and no championships.
And you thought the Braves had the monopoly on teases.
Asked how he has dealt with it, Hall said, “The same way I tell the players to. You just try to prepare your team, put the pieces together and go from there.”
It says something that, while the Jackets are in pieces, they’re still together. Consider Saturday’s starting pitcher. Hyde was moved from the rotation to the bullpen this year but back to starter for the NCAA tournament because of his experience. He responded by allowing two earned runs in eight innings.
Nice week for the kid. The Braves drafted him the other day. Between his performance and the Braves’ bullpen crisis, contract leverage shouldn’t be an issue. Of course, that’s a few steps past this pyramid of Hall’s.
“The higher you go, the harder it is to take the next step,” he said.
So history screams.
Permalink | Comments (20) | Categories: Jeff Schultz, Tech / ACC
At least Belkin wins in courtroom
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
The initial reaction is to shudder. Steve Belkin as outright owner of not one but two Atlanta sports franchises? Why not hand the Braves to Donald Sterling and the Falcons to the Bidwills while we’re at it?
The secondary response is to perform a reality check. And to ask: Would Balkin’ Belkin be any worse than the addled status quo? Would having a single owner, even a wrong-headed one, be any more embarrassing than a partnership that couldn’t stay partnered and, far worse, can’t even execute a severance?
What happened last summer — Belkin’s attempt to block the Joe Johnson sign-and-trade; Billy Knight’s photographed refusal to shake Belkin’s hand — was sobering. The judicial ruling issued Friday was, for the remaining members of Atlanta Spirit LLC, utterly mortifying. They wanted to buy out Belkin, who apparently wanted to be bought out. Now it has been decreed that Belkin has the legal right to buy what they didn’t intend to sell. The minority owner has, at least for the moment, out-litigated the majority. Is this a great country or what?
For the sake of argument, let’s assume the dispirited Atlanta Spirit can’t find a higher court willing to overturn the Maryland judge’s ruling. Let’s assume Belkin winds up with the Hawks and the Thrashers and Philips Arena. What might happen then?
Well, Billy Knight would be out of a job. (If you won’t shake a man’s hand, how can you work for him?) The Thrashers’ spiraling payroll would surely be reduced. The Hawks probably wouldn’t be in the market for any big-ticket free agents, given that a disagreement over a big-ticket free agent triggered this whole mess. And all of that sounds bad, yes. Here again, pesky reality intrudes.
The Thrashers, in business since 1999, haven’t yet reached the playoffs. The Hawks haven’t qualified for a postseason since 1999. The Thrashers spent big last season — so big that their general manager guaranteed the playoffs — and fell two points short. The Hawks’ GM keeps burning lofty draft picks on swingmen and just traded away the guy who would become the NBA’s Most Improved Player. If this represents organizational success, what constitutes failure?
Belkin, as has been noted, is an odd duck. He seems to want to own a team for the sheer privilege of ownership. He lives in Boston and, in the happier days before the partnership fragmented, showed no inclination to move here. He attended only a handful of games. He evinced little interest in the day-to-day running of the Hawks and Thrashers until getting exercised over the Joe Johnson courtship. (With the distance of hindsight, it must be said that two draft picks plus Boris Diaw plus $70 million does seem a trifle much to pay for any player other than LeBron James or Shaquille O’Neal.)
Those who continue to work for the Hawks and Thrashers believe Belkin unchecked would be an untrammeled fiasco, but it isn’t as if those who work for the Hawks and Thrashers have lifted their franchises to such great heights. Belkin’s former partners have the benefit of being cheery fellows and, in the case of the Gearons and Rutherford Seydel, longtime Atlantans. Alas, having your heart (and body) in the right place isn’t nearly enough.
The former partners stand exposed as hopelessly naïve — for having embraced Belkin in the first place, for having believed this litigious man would go away quietly. In the bottom-line world of professional sports, are wide-eyed naifs apt to make the sort of nuanced decisions that generate championships?
Steve Belkin would almost certainly be the sort of owner — cheap and distant and arrogant — no team wants. But if the alternative is a bunch of nice guys who couldn’t bring themselves to fire Mike Woodson for losing 85 of his first 100 games, is that any better? At least Belkin knows how to win in a courtroom. The nice guys haven’t indicated they can win at anything involving pro sports, or that they ever will.
Permalink | Comments (42) | Categories: Hawks / NBA, Mark Bradley, Thrashers / NHL
Happy to be in this hall
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
There are halls of fame, and there are halls of fame, but my question here refers to the Hall of What? Halls of fame generally celebrate guys who scored the winning touchdown, hit a World Series home run, won the U.S. Open or were in Secretariat’s saddle. Henry Aaron belongs. Bobby Jones belongs. Tommy Nobis, Dominique Wilkins, and two more Bobbies, Dodd and Cox, are in the inaugural class of the Atlanta Sports Hall of Fame.
But some guy who makes his living using two fingers? Who looks at the world through bifocals? Who looks at golf from the left-handed side — and was doing so before Phil Mickelson was born? Who has been watching stock car races since before drivers started crawling through the window to get to the steering wheel? Who still can’t recognize a balk when he sees one? And has yet to actually see a hockey goal? And can split an infinitive with the best of ‘em.
That guy?
A few weeks ago, a man named Larry Winter called and told me I had been elected to the Atlanta Sports Hall of Fame. “Me?” was my response. “You must be scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
“Oh, no,” he said, “this is just our second group, and you were a unanimous choice.”
Larry must have a lot of time on his hands, but I don’t see how. He’s in the real estate business and real estate is booming in Atlanta. I know, because I’ve started checking the stock quotations before the sports section — or did. You could have bowled me over with a bowling ball, for I’ve never been so sure that Jesus’ close friend, Matthew, wasn’t right when he wrote, “A prophet is not without honor, save in his own country.”
Now my picture will be hanging at the airport, but I know some who’d prefer that it be the body itself. Practicing sports writing in this territory all these years, there was no way to establish neutrality. Georgia Bulldogs insisted that I was in bed with Georgia Tech, and Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets insisted I was sleeping with their enemy. When in truth, I really preferred Agnes Scott.
Nevertheless, the electorate must have dismissed my flaws and here I stood, at the pearly gates of recognition by the folks who knew me best. They have high regard for my sense of barbecue, understand that I don’t cheat at golf, have never really mastered the art of homerism, but they overlook the most important thing that I’ve done in life — that is, raise three sons from the ages of 9, 8 and 4 as a single parent, and that they responded with honor. That’s something that doesn’t figure into the sports equation.
I’ve just gone on from one column to the next, about 15,000 of them by this time, trying to tell it as I see it. Baseball was what triggered all this, from hick town back lots to World Series — what a book title — but in addition to the balk, I still have trouble identifying the infield fly rule. There is a lot of stuff in life that are still mysteries to me, like inflation, high post and low post, why we must have Democrats and Republicans, all those Stallone repeats, and the Einstein theory. I do know Charlie Einstein from Albert. Albert could never have written a sports column.
Well, just think of it, walking onto the stage with a man who won 318 baseball games throwing with his knuckles, another man who has been the heavyweight champion four times, the coach who resuscitated basketball at Georgia Tech, a woman who won Olympic gold medals with her feet, a baseball player who played when only the ball was white (a purloined line), and this old dude who got here in 1950 and still won’t go away. Phil Niekro, Evander Holyfield, Bobby Cremins, Wyomia Tyus, James “Red” Moore and the guy who has made a career of semicolons, prepositions, adverbs and the worst foe any in newspapering ever had to face, a deadline with 15 minutes to write.
That’s it. Nothing like honor in your own precinct. I’m just relieved that I wasn’t required to draft some old pal to be my inductor. You see, most of my vintage have departed this earth, or are now living in a second home somewhere on a beach or on a mountain. I’m just happy to have been invited to the party.
Permalink | Comments (9) | Categories: Furman Bisher
Grimsley story a tip of the iceberg
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
Nothing is impossible, but this is pretty close: Knowing for sure that any athlete you name isn’t doing something other than eating all of his or her vegetables between lifting, running, jumping and twisting to become prosperous.
With apologies to our founding fathers, everybody involved with sports these days is guilty until proven innocent when it comes to performance-enhancing drugs, and for good reason.
Let’s just say that there isn’t a better reason to think otherwise. You can blame such skepticism on The Jason Grimsley Doctrine, which states: If an obscure relief pitcher with modest physical looks can spend years using various types of illegal substances, then we really have a mess beyond a mess throughout sports, and that mess will last for an eternity.
In case you haven’t been paying attention, Grimsley surged out of nowhere to become as famous (or infamous) as, oh, say, Barry Bonds. That’s because Grimsley just told on a lot of people. And, no, I’m not referring to the names of present and former baseball players whom he delivered to the feds after they traced a package of human growth hormone (HGH) to his home and confronted him at the front door.
Listen closely, because this goes further than just one guy’s progression of drug use in search of prominence. After all, Grimsley’s story is that of many. He used anabolic steroids until baseball began testing for them. Then he switched to amphetamines. After they became a primary target for the game’s testing program, he became an HGH guy.
Neither baseball nor anybody else has a definitive test for HGH. Not only that, the best way to determine whether somebody is using HGH is to give them a blood test that requires the use of antibodies, and antibodies are in short supply. Even if there were a test that would detect the use of HGH or anything else, it wouldn’t matter. The serial cheaters would find another substance to use, because they always have, and they always will.
Take gene therapy, for instance. According to a Web site called “Human Genome Project Information,” gene therapy is a technique for correcting defective genes responsible for disease development. According to baseball insiders, gene therapy is the next “something” that players will try to exploit to increase their ability to hit, pitch, field and run.
That means baseball will have to go someday from urine tests to blood tests (if the players association ever will approve them) to DNA tests (which the players association never will approve) to hiring their version of Dr. Frankenstein in attempt to stay within a couple of test tubes of the cheaters’ technology.
To be fair to baseball and to the modern athlete, this is an old story that just has new characters. See the sham that was those athletes from the former Soviet Bloc nations who won a slew of gold medals during the 1960s through the collapse of the Berlin Wall. During the last few years, Communist leaders admitted that they regularly gave kids as young as 11 years old so-called “vitamin tablets” that actually were anabolic steroids. Now many of those previous users are adults, and they are suffering from everything from bulimia and tumors to heart defects and depression.
Well, those who aren’t dead.
Former Braves infielder Ken Caminiti was among those in this country whose use of performance-enhancing drugs contributed to his early death. The same was true of football standout Lyle Alzado. Still, given the combination of money and fame that blinds common sense, you’ll continue to have an epidemic of users, which means you’ll continue to have an epidemic of doubters.
For instance: Nobody can throw as hard as Roger Clemens at 43 without a little help, and his head has expanded as much through the years as that beleaguered slugger for the San Francisco Giants. All of these 300-pound linemen in football didn’t just arrive at the turn of the century on a really big space ship. How can Marion Jones keep running that fast with legs over 30, a dinosaur age for sprinters?
We’re back to the Jason Grimsley Doctrine, authored by somebody who entered his 15th season in the majors this year with a 4.76 ERA and 41-56 record after playing for eight different teams. Guess he figured he needed to take stuff to remain at least mediocre.
Permalink | Comments (15) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Terence Moore
Rubbing fenders with religion
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
If the separation between church and state has gotten a little blurry in recent years, at least it’s not NASCAR. Because the separation between church and pits done blowed up a long time ago.
A publisher that hawks books on Scientology is sponsoring a driver on NASCAR’s late-model weekly circuit in California. Great. I figure it’s only a matter of time before other religions jump into the water (holy or otherwise).
I just want to be there when the Havoline/Nation of Islam Chevy rolls into Talladega.
You think it’s nasty when Tony Stewart and Kurt Busch slam fenders? What’s going to happen when the Israel and Hamas-sponsored Dodges come barreling out of turn two?
I look down the pavement and see the Roman Catholic Church/Hickory Hams Ford. I see Scientologists, Jews, Jews for Jesus, Hari Krishnas (cool paint job), Methodists, Baptists, Southern Baptists, North-by-Northwest Baptists and Episcopalians. I possibly see Agnostics, but they’re leaving their options open. I see them swapping paint in the grand daddy of all points races. Just gimme that Old Time Religion 500.
“It sounds like a South Park episode,” said Larry DeGaris.
Dude. They’re killing more than Kenny. Must preaching intersect with my beer and brat?
DeGaris is the director of the Center for Sports Sponsorships at James Madison University. He has done studies on NASCAR sponsorships and has heard the latest: Kenton Gray, who competes on a late-model NASCAR weekly circuit in southern California, will compete Saturday night at little Irwindale Speedway with a new sponsor: Bridge Publications and its book, “Dianetics,” written by the late L. Ron Hubbard of Scientology fame (or infamy).
DeGaris said while publicity could help book sales, he wouldn’t expect it to lead to religious converts. His analogy: “NASCAR fans love Chevy, but a lot of them drive Toyotas. Why? Because they think Toyotas are better.”
NASCAR doesn’t seem to have a problem with any of this. It allowed Bobby Labonte to have, “The Passion of the Christ” painted on his car. It allowed Morgan Shepherd to compete for the “Victory in Jesus Racing Ministries.” NASCAR balked at his initial paint job, but eventually allowed him to have “Racing With Jesus” painted on the hood.
“If we felt like there was something inflammatory, we would get involved,” said Jim Hunter, NASCAR’s vice president of communications. “When you start trying to legislate morals and philosophy, it’s a slippery slope.”
But isn’t promoting religions equally slippery?
Hunter acknowledged NASCAR has taken heat before for allowing beer and hard liquor companies to sponsor cars. He admitted, “Religion possibly is the most inflammable” sponsor of all.
Flammable. But not inflammatory. I’m lost.
A little weekly race at Irwindale’s half-mile oval has never received so much attention. The track’s general manager, Robert DeFazio, has heard from local and national media. “It’s obviously gotten a lot of national attention, but we’re a non-denominational operation,” DeFazio said.
But Saturday at Irwindale is “Allstate” night, not Scientology night. (Those good hands are not the cold dead ones of L. Ron Hubbard.)
Scientology, around since 1950, has gained a following in Hollywood. The most famous follower is the couch-jumping Tom Cruise. So. Can we expect Cruise to astral project to Irwindale to cheer for his fellow Kenton Gray, a fellow Scientologist?
“No, Tom hasn’t called,” DeFazio said. “Actually, I guess he wouldn’t call. His people would call. But they haven’t called, either.”
Mark McKinstry, a spokesperson for Bridge, stated this obvious: “I want to sell books,” adding, “Will this appeal to everybody? Probably not.”
Hubbard was 74 when he died in 1986. He was either a visionary or a whackjob, depending on, well, your religion.
According to the online encyclopedia, Wikipedia: “When he died, the Church of Scientology announced Hubbard had deliberately ‘discarded the body’ to do ‘higher level spiritual research,’ unencumbered by mortal confines.”
And of course, that higher-level spiritual research has led him … to Irwindale.
Permalink | Comments (5) | Categories: Jeff Schultz
MVP award should bear Aaron’s name
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
My call to Bud Selig actually was about something else involving Hank Aaron, but when you have the baseball commissioner on the other end of the phone from his office in Milwaukee, well, you swing for the fences. So I dug in deep for several more questions.
To paraphrase: Right now, with Time Warner owning the Braves, Aaron is operating in his eternal role as senior vice president. He sits in the shadows, though, mostly by choice, but he wouldn’t mind easing into the sunshine despite moving four months past his 72nd birthday. When the deal is complete to sell the franchise to Liberty Media Corp., the leading candidate, will you insist that the new folks keep Aaron around, and that they find ways to make the home run king sparkle in the brightest of lights?
In other words, do you agree with me that Aaron should have a vibrant and visible role with the new Braves’ ownership?
“Absolutely,” said Selig, before adding emphatically, “Absolutely. There’s no question about it. I will encourage it, and it should happen.”
This all goes back to the start of the process, when Selig urged outsiders interested in buying the Braves such as the Liberty Media people from around the Rocky Mountains to connect with a group from around the Chattahoochee River. Enter Aaron, along with the likely hiring by those Liberty Media people of current Braves chairman and president Terence McGuirk, the quietly brilliant executive who has been around since the days of Ted Turner. Chances are, McGuirk would run things with the same crew (general manager John Schuerholz and manager Bobby Cox, for instance) that has taken the Braves to 14 consecutive division titles.
Good. All good. Greater still, Selig knows that Aaron did more than a few things with his bat, glove, arm, legs and dignity to make the Braves famous in Milwaukee and Atlanta. Then again, Selig and Aaron have been splendid pals since the Braves came to Wisconsin during the early 1950s before the team bolted for Georgia a decade later.
“You know, Hank went to Washington with me last September during the steroid thing, and he was just tremendous,” said Selig, recalling Aaron’s testimony on Capitol Hill. “That was a pivotal moment in baseball, when we wound up with the toughest drug program in American sports, and he was so helpful. Given everything that’s happened (with the steroid controversy), well, you know how I look upon Hank Aaron. Even setting aside my own enormous regard for him as a person and more importantly as my friend, Hank Aaron is the heart and soul of baseball. Hank should always be in the forefront of as many things as possible.”
Which brings us to the primary reason why I called the commissioner. That slugger for the San Francisco Giants with his artificially inflated arms, legs and everything else just topped Babe Ruth’s 714, and he is easing his way toward Aaron’s 755. As a result, baseball is moving closer to a brutal scenario that would entail the unpopular Barry Bonds catching and passing the popular Henry Aaron.
My solution: Baseball should make Aaron even more popular.
You have an award every year for the best pitcher in each league, and it is named after Cy Young, a former player. You have an award every year for the top rookie in each league, and it is named after Jackie Robinson, a former player. You also have an award every year for the most valuable player in each league, and it is named after Kenesaw Mountain Landis, a former commissioner.
A former commissioner? Baseball should forget about Landis in this case and make its MVP award revolve around Aaron. Not only is Aaron a former player, but he is the ultimate former player given his graceful contributions to the game during and after his playing days. Baseball should make a huge deal this summer about renaming the award after Aaron to remove the focus from Bonds and return it to the legitimate slugger of all-time.
“I want to be a little bit careful that we don’t take away from the Hank Aaron Award that we do have,” said Selig, who didn’t totally dismiss my idea. He just suggested that he prefers the status quo, which has Aaron’s name on a relatively new and mostly obscure yearly award for hitters that involves a convoluted formula. In contrast, the MVP award has been around a while, and everybody knows about it. So name it after Aaron already.
Selig has that power. I mean, commissioner, you even said as much: We can’t get enough of Hammerin’ Hank, locally or otherwise.
Permalink | Comments (38) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Terence Moore
Smoltz clone needed for bullpen
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
Now we see the absolute greatness of John Smoltz. You know, as if we didn’t see it before.
The man won a Cy Young Award during his first time around as a starter for the Braves, and he also won more postseason games than anybody in history. Even so, he agreed to switch to the bullpen, where he quickly became one of the most dominating closers ever.
The problem? The Braves’ rotation lacked Smoltz’s fastball and guts, especially in the postseason.
Smoltz is back as a mostly impressive starter these days, but guess what? The Braves bullpen that he left is a disaster without his brilliance as a closer.
I’ve asked this before, and I’ll keep asking until I get a definitive answer from Dr. Frankenstein or Bobby Cox: Can the Braves just clone the guy?
Permalink | Comments (36) | Categories: Quick Hit
Brave run of luck, titles ebbing away
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
So you thought it would go on forever. A grim forecast imbedded itself in my mind after a few days at spring training, that this might be the season the Braves’ delicious streak of division championships comes to an end. My book of notes included such a dismal thought, but the coward in me suppressed it. Only when some inquisitive person, perhaps beset by the same dastardly suspicion, asked what I saw of the season ahead did I confess any doubt, though cast in carefully couched terms.
It’s a constant theme of spring that exhibition games are not played to be won, but to prepare a team for the real thing. The Braves were not looking good, and there were excuses. Five of their employees were away playing in that thing called the World Baseball Classic, an instrument designed to spread the gospel among lesser nations. Chipper and Andruw Jones, two prime properties, were among the absentees, and so was their latest gate attraction, Jeff Francoeur.
I won’t insist that while he had only two at-bats, and missed about three weeks of Braves camp, this was the reason Francoeur started the regular season in a horrible slump. But it’s a pretty strong premise. While most major league managers and officials spoke kindly of the somewhat Classic, deep down inside most of them were only playing the company line.
That was only the original cause for concern. The other, and surely the most likely one, was how the season of ‘05 had gone. If there are two things in baseball I can get along without it’s the designated hitter and the “closer.” But since “closers” have become an essential, if you play by the book, the Braves had to have one, and they traded for Dan Kolb. Poor fellow. He had had one rather bright season in Milwaukee. John Schuerholz rarely makes a bad deal, but this was one. Remember, he gave up a good prospect, Jose Capellan, to get Kolb, who, among other things, was expected to fill in the void left by John Smoltz.
“Closers” came and “closers” went, but the Braves managed to hang on. That brings me around to what really made the season of ‘05 the season that it was. When the Braves needed help, Schuerholz picked up the phone and called Richmond or Mississippi. Mike Hampton went down, Horacio Ramirez went down. Schuerholz called Kyle Davies up from Richmond and Blaine Boyer from Mississippi. He needed an outfielder, he called Francoeur up from Mississippi. Johnny Estrada got hit by a truck at home plate, he called up Brian McCann from Mississippi, and with all due respect to the glamour of Francoeur, McCann was the most valuable of them all.
Here was a 21-year-old kid called on to handle Smoltz in his first full game, and a whole staff of pitchers of all ages, from Davies to Kyle Farnsworth, and he did it with the aplomb of an ancient mariner, all the while carrying a heavy load with the bat.
Along came Kelly Johnson, and later Macay McBride out of the farm system. The only move that didn’t work was Joey Devine, drafted from N.C. State University and rushed into a firestorm of bases-loaded home runs. It was his misfortune to throw the final pitch of another Braves October failure. Not to be overlooked, Wilson Betemit had been kept, mainly because there was nothing else to do with him, and he came forward in time to lessen the loss of Chipper Jones at one time.
But, you see, every critical move worked. They couldn’t make a mistake, and seldom do you ever see that happen at any major league address. Not so this season at the corner of Henry Aaron Avenue and Bill Lucas Street. Just when it seems everything will go wrong, it does. The bullpen is a mess. Even with Edgar Renteria on hand, defense has become a forgotten art. McCann is among the walking wounded, and catching is left in the hands of a career back-up, Todd Pratt. And there is no number Schuerholz can dial and expect instant help.
So that’s the way it is. And yet, they still manage to keep the Mets within view. It ain’t over yet, but I wouldn’t include them in my exacta.
Permalink | Comments (35) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Furman Bisher
A Countdown that’ll make you sick
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
The Tuesday Countdown:
10: So I can honestly say that when I set out on this career, I never thought I would write (or blog) about … airsickness bags.
9: But the other day in a column about the Braves’ slide, I wrote that the next game would be souvenir puke-bag night. Everybody except Steve Silberberg of Hull, Mass., knew it was a joke. Steve sent me an e-mail asking, “If there really is a bag, may I have one?”
8: I am not making this up. Steve has no life. OK, he has a life but he also has a collection that makes my Pez collection look quite normal. He collects airsickness bags. He has over 1,800. He said some guy in Germany has close to 5,000. “There’s an elite group of us, maybe 50,” Steve said by phone, laughing. “Most are Germans. I don’t know why.” I’m guessing all former Stasi agents gone whacko.
7: Steve said he started his collection in 1991 because, “I needed attention.” In real life, he’s a 44-year-old who puts together backpacking trips for overweight people called, “Fatpacking.” He also a former computer programmer, but said, “That’s nowhere near as gratifying,” as collecting airsickness bags. Well, I mean, who didn’t know that?
6: Steve’s collection can be viewed at airsicknessbags.com. He “specializes” in non-transportation (planes, ferries, busses) bags, like a promotional one from a Florida credit union that reads, “Sick of high interest rates?” He also has one from McDonald’s. “Somebody who works at the airport got it off the corporate jet,” he said. “You can’t get them in the restaurant.” Yeah. Bad publicity.
5: He admits he bought a bag off eBay, saying, “It was the low point of my life.” And this: “I almost didn’t write you because I’m embarrassed to admit I have this collection. I try to keep it quiet.” Good plan.
4: Really, when you think about it, would the Chris Reitsma Sick Bag be such a bad idea? Or just a general “Braves Bullpen Bag” with interchangeable sticker faces?
3: It’s June and I’m already sick of hearing about Notre Dame.
2: Nice try by Michelle Wie. But after the run she gave it in qualifying Monday, the surprise would be if she DOESN’T play in the U.S. Open some day.
1: The Braves are just two games out of fourth and 4 1/2 out of last. Hang onto your stomachs.
Permalink | Comments (11) | Categories: Jeff Schultz, Quick Hit
Braves remember Gregg fondly
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
It was the strike zone from a hitter’s darkest nightmare. Wide, wider and then absolutely outrageous. “If we win that game,” said Braves manger Bobby Cox, shaking his head Monday night at Turner Field while recalling Game 5 of the 1997 National League Championship Series against the Florida Marlins, “we win everything. I mean, the pennant, the World Series, everything.”
Instead, the Braves were scorched out of the playoffs by fire, brimstone and Eric Gregg. Even so, when you listened to those in the home clubhouse who survived their version of hell that night nine years ago in south Florida, they claimed that the big fellow carrying an umpire’s clicker instead of a pitchfork was from heaven.
Said John Smoltz, the Braves’ ultimate historian, recalling Gregg, who died Monday evening at 55 after suffering a massive stroke on Sunday, “I don’t know anybody who ever had a problem with him as far as being approachable.”
Just last month, when Smoltz warmed up in the bullpen at Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia, all 400-something pounds of Gregg leaned over the railing to yell “Smoltzie” with a wave. That’s because among Gregg’s many jobs since he left the major leagues after the 1999 season was to pour beer at home games for the Philadelphia Phillies. Still, he remained the big (really, really big), jovial umpire to those who remembered. “I was surprised by his weight, but you knew he was trying hard to do his job every day,” said Chipper Jones, the Braves’ third baseman who was around for Gregg’s last five seasons calling a few balls and a lot of strikes.
Then there was Cox, not exactly in line to become head of the umpires’ union someday. Only John McGraw and Leo Durocher have been tossed more as a manager in history. “I don’t think Eric ever threw me out,” Cox said, easing into a chuckle and adding, “Well, he may have, but it probably was because I asked him to. I never had an argument with him.”
Not even on October 12, 1997, when Cox fumed from afar as Gregg’s strike zone grew wider than his waist. Two days later, the Braves were eliminated with barely a whimper at home. If you combine the Braves’ loss to that inferior Marlins bunch with the greatest collapse in the history of the World Series, when they came from ahead in 1996 to choke away a world championship to the New York Yankees, the Braves were rolling toward their yearly habit of October infamy.
“We had a great chance to do something special and be the Yankees,” said Smoltz, referring to how the pinstriped folks eventually won it all four out of five years through 2000. “You’re going to have to strap me up to something and transform me to convince me that we somehow didn’t win (against the Yankees in 1996). I’m still having a hard time with that.
“Then, in 1997, well, I hate talking about that game, because it looks like sour grapes, but we had every chance with the same strike zone with Greg Maddux pitching. Give that guy pitching against us (Monday night) incredible props.”
That guy pitching against the Braves Monday night was Livan Hernandez, now with the Washington Nationals and a loser 10 consecutive times in the regular season against the Braves entering Monday night’s game. He was just mediocre this time when he left the game after six innings with a 5-4 lead. Such definitely wasn’t the case for Hernandez during The Eric Gregg Game, when his rookie arm took advantage of every mile or three of that jumbo strike zone to fan 15 Braves hitters along the way to a 2-1 victory.
Cox shook his head again, saying, “We had runners at first and third that night, and (Hernandez) struck out the next three hitters on called outs. Nobody swung the bat, they were all balls.” Then Cox squinted, before adding in a hurry, “Really, I couldn’t tell from the dugout, because you have no idea where the pitches are. But (Fred) McGriff, (Ryan) Klesko, Chipper. They kept coming back and saying, ‘Bobby, those are unhittable pitches.’”
Yeah, but the Braves hitters didn’t give themselves a chance. They never adjusted to Gregg’s consistently huge strike zone. And the older Maddux could have emulated the younger Hernandez by throwing pitches to where Gregg was calling them.
Now Gregg is calling them Somewhere Up There. “I’ll always think of him with a smile on his face, having fun, doing the best that he could — you know, a guy who could take some teasing and give it right back to you,” Cox said. Then he sighed, chuckled and added, “Oh, I’ll still remember that crazy game, but I’ll remember all of those other things even more.”
Permalink | Comments (32) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Terence Moore
In summation, the Braves really stink
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
The day started with players from something called the World Softball League putting on a pre-game home run exhibition. For some reason, they used their own pitcher. They could’ve saved on travel costs and just borrowed Chris Reitsma.
Then the real game started. I think. These days it’s hard to tell the difference between the pros and the warm-up clowns. Maybe instead of running out for the start of the game, the Braves should just pile into a Volkswagen and drive onto the field.
“We all just stink,” Jeff Francoeur said Sunday.
Apparently, you don’t need to be a 10-year veteran to have perspective.
The Arizona Diamondbacks are good. They’re not Godzilla. But the Braves lost Sunday, 9-3, and got swept in a four-game series for the first time in 11 seasons.
They have lost six of seven on the homestand. They’ve led only once in the six losses (that was 1-0 in an 8-3 pounding by Los Angeles.)
The 1-6 stretch follows a 15-5 stretch, which followed a 12-18 start. Tonight is souvenir air sickness bag night.
“We all just stink,” sums things up nicely.
Include Jorge Sosa, who gave up home runs to lead off the first and second innings and is now 1-7 with a 5.07 ERA (after going 13-3 and 2.55 a year ago). Include almost the entire pitching staff, which allowed the Diamondbacks 26 runs, 42 hits and eight home runs in the last two days (three games). Include a lineup that Francoeur and Adam LaRoche says hasn’t started games aggressively enough. (LaRoche: “We got hot for a few games, and now it seems like we forgot what we’re here. I’m as much to blame as anybody.”)
They are now 1-6 against the Diamondbacks. The good news: They are 18-5 against the Marlins, Cubs, Nationals, Rockies and Padres. That should come in handy when they play, I dunno, Estonia.
Maybe we should’ve known this was coming. Last Wednesday, assistant general manager Dayton Moore left to run the worst team in baseball in Kansas City. This was big news for the Royals. They hadn’t been anybody’s preferred option for two decades.
The next day, John Schuerholz was stopped by Turner Field security as he attempted to walk toward the press elevator. She didn’t see his credential and didn’t recognize his face. Worst of all, she hadn’t read the book. Nor did she show up for Schuerholz’ book-signing before Sunday’s game (perhaps believing the title, “Built to Win,” was outdated.)
Friday was a good day. It rained.
On Saturday, the Braves got swept. Bobby Cox was ejected for the 121st time in his career. (He is only 10 behind all-time leader John McGraw. He is five wins behind Joe McCarthy for sixth on that list. At this rate, he’ll catch McGraw first.)
On Sunday, Sosa did his best to lose it before Cox had to go to the bullpen. Home run by Jeff DaVanon to open the game. Home run by Tony Clark to start the second. With two outs and two on later in the inning, pitching coach Roger McDowell walked to the mound. Whatever he said must have really worked. Sosa then threw a wild pitch to advance the runners and yielded a two-run single to DaVanon.
“It’s like we’re all waiting for something to happen,” Francoeur said. “We get down 5-0 or 6-0 before we start hitting.”
The lad is exaggerating. It was only 4-0. Then 5-1. Then 5-3.Then in came the lost Marx brother, Implodo.
Turns out that Reitsma not only can’t hold a lead, he can’t hold a two-run deficit. In the ninth, he allowed a single, a double and two home runs. The grounds crew swept up his remains and scooped them into an urn.
You tell yourself that a team could be worse than 28-29. The All-Star break is still five weeks away. But even Cox called this, “probably the worst series that we’ve ever had here.”
And the lines between pro and amateur are getting blurry.
Permalink | Comments (265) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Jeff Schultz
Chipper not appreciated enough
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Terence Moore
Something keeps occurring to me while watching the Braves: We’re taking Chipper Jones for granted. Then again, Billy Williams was Jones. Season after season, the slugger for the Chicago Cubs not named Ernie Banks would become quietly spectacular before he would retreat to the shadows of the Wrigley ivy.
The next thing you knew, Williams was glowing in the sunshine of Cooperstown with a bronzed plaque.
Larry and Lynne Jones nearly wept on Saturday at Turner Field after hearing my Williams analogy. They are the parents of baseball’s most unappreciated player of consistent goodness along the way to ultimate greatness. When I visited their suite and asked them whether they thought their son would reach the Hall of Fame someday, the mother closed her eyes tightly before crossing her fingers.
The father tried to speak, but a lump in his throat kept getting in the way. “It’s hard to believe that my son, from Pierson, Fla., with one caution light and a convenience store, would even be considered for the Hall of Fame,” said Larry Jones, Chipper’s high school coach, talking and blinking. “Just to make it here [pointing toward the field, where Chipper stood at third base for the Braves] for that matter, but to be considered for the Hall of Fame, it’s unbelievable. Unbelievable.”
Actually, it’s believable. You just haven’t been paying attention. Few have, and given his swagger of a gunslinger preparing for high noon in the Old West, Jones couldn’t care less what you think — especially if you don’t have a tomahawk across your chest. We’re talking about a guy who prefers to stay so deep in the shadows that he told his agent six years ago to drop his endorsements to zero. His selflessness caused him to agree to the second-worst move in the history of Georgia sports (topped only by D.J. Shockley’s decision to spend four years as a backup quarterback at UGA) when he spent those 2 1/2 years in left field.
Now, with Jones in the midst of his second full season back at third, and with the assumption he’ll stay healthy for more than a little while, he’ll score 100 times again, and he’ll collect that many RBIs again. He’ll also slam more than 30 home runs while hitting over .300 again.
He’ll also get overlooked again when compared to those others that you always hear about each season.
“My name doesn’t have to be right beside A-Rod, Jeter, Pujols or some of the other elite players in the game, and that’s OK,” said Jones, softly, forming one of his famously crooked smiles at his cubicle. “I know that when I’m done playing, my numbers and my consistency will speak for themselves.
“You know, I’m the No. 3 hitter for one of the best teams in baseball over the last 14 or 15 years. So I know that when I walk out on the field that, in a clutch situation, that pitcher and those players on the other side don’t want to have to get me out. That’s the kind of respect I’ve tried to gain throughout my career, and that’s a compliment enough for me.”
Well, that, and this: David Justice was the Braves’ undisputed leader for the longest stretch, but just before he was traded after the 1996 season, he told me, “This is Chipper’s team now.” Justice even spent his last year with the Braves grooming Jones to become his successor. Even so, it wasn’t until two springs ago that Jones confessed that one of his primary goals now that he was leaving his early 30s was to become the leader that Justice wanted him to be.
Mission accomplished. Rarely does a conversation reach a few minutes with Jeff Francoeur, Adam LaRoche and Ryan Langerhans before you hear a reference to Jones as a constant and effective mentor to the young Braves.
That other stuff doesn’t hurt Jones’ messages around the Braves clubhouse, either. Stuff such as Jones ranking as the only switch-hitter ever to collect more than 300 home runs and hit over. 300. Not even his idol, Mickey Mantle, did that. Jones also entered this season with more game-winning RBIs than anybody in the majors since 1995. Plus, his brilliance wasn’t so hidden not to be named the National League’s MVP in 1999, while finishing in the top 10 four other times.
Said Lynne Jones, an accomplished equestrian who trains and boards horses on their ranch in southwest Texas, “He has such a respect for the game, and I hope that the game has respect for him when he gets finished playing.”
It did for Billy Williams, and Chipper Jones is Billy Williams.
Permalink | Comments (75) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Terence Moore
We play world football, but we love only ours
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
Flash back to September 1991. Remember how it was to be consumed by a team and a sport? Remember the nightly dollop of drama as the upstart Braves chased the mighty Dodgers?
If you can recall how that giddy and frazzled month felt to Atlantans, you know how the World Cup feels to the rest of the world.
No, not to us Americans. Nothing in domestic sports has the unifying and catalyzing effect that the World Cup has on every other soccer-playing nation. The closest thing is the Super Bowl, which has become more of a social thing. (Did folks in Peoria care deeply whether a team from Pittsburgh or one from Seattle won in February?) We’re a big nation with a range of diversions, and if we’re going to coalesce around anything, it won’t be a soccer ball.
The rest of the world views soccer rather differently. Asked if the sport was indeed a life-and-death matter, former Liverpool manager Bill Shankly — roughly the Lombardi of English football — famously said: “Listen, it’s more important than that.”
When the World Cup begins Friday in Germany, the world beyond these borders will pay rapt attention. Indeed, the fretting and planning is well under way. Every Englishman (and woman) knows the date of Wayne Rooney’s next CT scan — the gifted Rooney is rehabbing a broken foot and is touch-and-go to be fit — has been moved from June 14 to Wednesday. Inmates in a Brazilian prison have demanded 60 TV sets so they can follow their national team, which is favored to win its sixth Cup. (Talk about a captive audience.)
And here? Americans of Italian descent will gather in selected establishments to track the Italian team, and those of Mexican (or German, or Spanish, or Togoan descent) will do the same for their sides. But will the American masses rally around the U.S. team?
Sadly, no. As Simon Kuper writes in the U.S. preface to “Soccer Against The Enemy,” which was published everywhere else in 1994: “When I wrote this book, I still had to convince my British readers that Americans played soccer; now probably more Americans do so regularly than western Europeans. … The U.S. would still seem to be immune to the social resonances of soccer, given that the game struggles even to make the papers here. … ‘Small’ soccer [the participatory kind] thrives in the U.S. without ‘big’ soccer [the spectator sort]. … The U.S. is the only country where the women’s national soccer team is better-known than the men’s.”
We Americans speak of “football widows” on autumn weekends. There are a million soccer moms in this land, but there’ll be few World Cup widows. ABC and ESPN’s broadcasts won’t come close to matching those of the Winter Olympics. We Americans continue to see soccer at its highest level as aimless and boring and foreign.
The rest of the world stops. We go on, impervious and imperious. Not everything that happens because of a World Cup is celebratory — the Colombian defender Andres Escobar was murdered 10 days after he scored an own goal in 1994; the 1966 Italian team, which had just lost to North Korea, was met at the Genoa airport by a cascade of rotten tomatoes — but the happier notes tend to drown out the discordant.
When France won in 1998, the streets of haughty Paris were filled with celebrants. When South Korea advanced to the semis four years ago, the fervor of the singing “Red Devils,” as its official fan club is known, became the tournament’s lasting memory. Every World Cup is vibrant and passionate, and we jaded Americans could stand a little of that about now. But we’ll ignore the doings in Germany because that’s what Americans do — we hate watching the global brand of football. Once again, the most powerful nation in the world will be the one that cares the least about the World Cup. Once again, it will be our loss, not the world’s.
Permalink | Comments (41) | Categories: Mark Bradley, Other
Cox, not GM, is irreplaceable
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
Bobby Cox, 65, is the best manager in baseball. John Schuerholz, 65, is the best GM. Each has done such surpassing work as to render himself indispensable. Today’s topic, then, is the baseball equivalent of the old who-wins-if-Superman-and-The-Incredible-Hulk-get-into-a-fight brainteaser. To wit: Of the Braves’ two irreplaceable men, which will be harder to replace?
Answer: Cox.
And it’s not because he was himself the general himself before returning to the clubhouse (at Stan Kasten’s request) in June 1990. In four years as an executive, Cox did well in energizing the Braves’ farm system and accumulating young pitchers, but it wasn’t until Schuerholz arrived in October 1990 that this organization became a first-class entity. Cox the GM had become reluctant to make moves — trading Steve Bedrosian for Ozzie Virgil and signing the vertiginous Nick Esasky had left scars — and a more confident hand was needed. And Schuerholz, as we know, is blatantly self-assured.
Schuerholz made the personnel moves in his first offseason — acquiring Terry Pendleton, Sid Bream and Rafael Belliard — that changed the face of the Braves. The whole operation was crying for someone to make a public commitment to excellence, and the suspendered Schuerholz did it. He was the catalyst when all this began, and he has continued to stock and re-stock all the division winners in the decade-and-a-half since. The great run would never have commenced without Schuerholz’s vision, but it couldn’t have endured without Cox’s day-to-day stewardship. Everything around him changes, but he remains constant. He inspires a loyalty among his coaches and players that is utterly foreign in this big-money me-first realm of contemporary professional sports. It’s amazing to see, year upon year, new Braves walk into this clubhouse and, in a matter of days, become absolute Cox acolytes.
Largely because of creeping budgetary restraints, the quality of personnel Schuerholz has provided has vacillated in recent seasons. For a decade the Braves spent big and won with starting pitching, but in 2002 they were buoyed by a lockdown bullpen and in 2003 they were carried by an unusually robust offense. In 2004 they won without much of a team at all. Usually they’ve finished first because of veterans, but last year they finished first with a raft of rookies.
Two years ago Marty Brennaman, the Hall of Fame broadcaster for the Cincinnati Reds, hauled out the famous quote — originally voiced by Frank Howard about Bear Bryant and repeated by Bum Phillips about Don Shula — and applied it to Cox: “He can take his’n and beat your’n.” And that’s the point. Maybe one or two other GMs could have stitched together comparable rosters for the price Schuerholz has paid these last five years. No other manager could have won division titles with them.
Think about this: The last 15 times Bobby Cox has left spring training with a team and completed a season with it, that team has finished first. (This includes the 1985 Toronto Blue Jays.) Maybe 10 of those times he has had the most talent in his division, but at least five times he hasn’t. Didn’t matter. He won anyway. He might well win again with this bunch, which lacks a closer and a first baseman and a leadoff hitter. He has that effect.
Understand: This isn’t an attempt to drive a wedge between Cox and Schuerholz, who like and respect one another and who have always worked together — invoking the Schuerholz word — seamlessly. They’re both great at what they do, and they’ll both be missed hugely whenever they choose to leave. And admittedly the matter of which will be missed more is a close call. Close, but clear.
One is the best GM of his era. The other is the best manager ever. The Braves might get ridiculously lucky and find another John Schuerholz. They’ll never find another Bobby Cox.
Permalink | Comments (70) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Mark Bradley
St. Simons likes Georgia-Florida in Jax
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Furman Bisher
St. Simons Island — Once every year for many a football season, this seacoast region takes on a bordertown mentality. It’s the weekend of the Georgia-Florida game, played across the state line in Jacksonville, which has sinfully, but cheerfully, assumed the reputation as “The World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party.” Until lately.
Michael Adams, president of the University of Georgia, has taken the stand that that liquid terminology should be shorn. It’s just not nice to be so willingly associated with public drinking, and associated debauchery. Think of something of picnic quality, for instance, “The World’s Largest Outdoor Lemonade Party,” or iced tea, though definitely not the Long Island type.
This area, specifically St. Simons, Sea Island, Jekyll Island and Brunswick, form the staging area from which Georgia Bulldog partisans launch their surge, cross the Florida line and establish their base in Alltel Stadium, once known as Gator Bowl. Some suspect that this may be Adams’ prelude to returning the game to the two campuses. Actually, the Jacksonville arrangement doesn’t come up for re-negotiation until after the 2010 game, which puts a stretch on Adams’ tenure in Athens.
Vance Leavy publishes “Bulldawg Illustrated,” the unofficial voice of all things Bulldog, based on St. Simons. He gets to the point: “That’s never going to happen. President Adams takes a good stand. The premise is good. But what’s the difference between what goes on at the home games and in Jacksonville?” he said. “Moving the game back to the campuses won’t change any of that.”
He makes another point, more vital to Glynn County and the surroundings. “This is south Georgia’s homecoming game. It’s a boom for Glynn County economics. It’s like having a World’s Fair every year, it’s bigger than the Fourth of July.”
So this part of the Georgia world gladly crosses the state line into “enemy” territory, and leaves the policing to the police. Even if Adams should be successful in shedding “the largest outdoor cocktail party” from association with the game — which is highly unlikely — the party will go on, and coastal Georgia happily accepts its role in it. This is where the Bulldogs prime for it, where they stock up, where they come to party, and you’d be surprised to know how many settle in hereabouts and take in the game by television, never getting a glimpse of Jacksonville.
Stan Robinson, located in his popular establishment, Brogan’s, has a solution. “Start beating Florida. That will change everything. Three times we’ve lost and still played for the SEC championship. That’s good, but we’ve lost out on playing for the national championship. You beat Tennessee three times in Knoxville, you ought to be able to beat Florida on neutral ground.”
Among other things, he said, “several businesses down here would go bankrupt if they didn’t have that weekend.” It’s like a land rush, running from Wednesday till Sunday, and in some cases, a full week.
Vince Dooley has sort of tap-danced acround the subject through the years. Mark Richt doesn’t lean in the back-to-the-campus direction, I’m told, nor does Damon Evans, the incumbent athletics director. A similar situation has been on-going for years in the Southwest, where Oklahoma has been crossing the state line to play Texas in “The Red River Shootout.” The Sooners accept the trip to Dallas with no complaints. It’s the Longhorns, who had been on a losing streak until last season who are having alternative thoughts. Now, so the story goes, with its newly expanded stadium in Austin, Texans are the ones who are talking “back to the campus.”
One further thought: In eschewing “the largest outdoor cocktail party” association, would Dr. Adams also recommend that beer commercials be eliminated from college sports television? Hyprocrisy, where are thy sting?
Permalink | Comments (7) | Categories: Furman Bisher, UGA / SEC
Clemens pitches to own beat
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Jeff Schultz
In addition to his unparalleled coverage skills, Deion Sanders excelled in one other important area: making money. When it came to gauging financial wind directions, nobody was better.
So it shouldn’t come as a surprise Sanders tried to cash in on this un-retirement thing long before Roger Clemens. Unemployed but not unemployable, Sanders wanted to sign with the playoff-bound Oakland Raiders late in the 2002 season. But he was denied by the NFL because his waiver rights had been claimed by San Diego. Deion passed because, well, playoffs, financial windfall and a spotlight were not available in San Diego.
Sanders was ahead of his time. Clemens is defying time. But don’t be surprised if what the 43-year-old pitcher just pulled off suddenly becomes a staple on the professional sports scene.
I’m thinking a year from now. Barry Bonds is retired and sulking somewhere in luxury. But his body is rested. He has healed, thanks partly to some magical substances that accidentally fell into a flaxseed bottle (which Bonds followed up with a Masking Agent 99 Smoothie fresh from a P.O. Box in Thailand). The Red Sox and the Yankees each are in a pennant race. And they need a power hitter to DH.
I’m thinking there’s a market one day for a “retired” Shaquille O’Neal during an NBA playoff race.
I’m thinking a goalie certainly could do this in the NHL — if Dominik Hasek hasn’t already.
I’m thinking this has Terrell Owens written all over it. He’ll “retire,” because he’ll think the NFL blackballed him, anyway. He’ll be in studio for ESPN. He’ll skip mini-camps and training camp. In November, he’ll look around and contact three teams in a playoff run. And somebody will bite.
I’m thinking John Smoltz.
“No,” Smoltz said Thursday. “I’m not in Roger’s category. We’re completely different personalities. I’m in awe of what he’s done. But I can’t see myself calculating, ‘OK, this is my last year. I want to enjoy it.’ And then when it’s over, say, ‘It’s not over.’ I don’t think I can do that.”
Of course, we really don’t know. Smoltz says he has at least another year left. After that, who knows? But an athlete never knows how he’ll feel in retirement. He’s a power pitcher with a thirst for competition, and he’s a bulldog in the playoffs. How would he react if it’s June or August and the Braves are holding on line one, the Yankees on line two and the Red Sox on line three?
Smoltz smiled.
“It’s an interesting scenario,” he said. “I’ll say this: If it works, there will be a lot more guys who’ll think about it than guys who don’t think about it.”
Start thinking about it. Not everybody is Roger Clemens. It certainly takes somebody with a special talent, durability and, yes, salesmanship to miss two months of the season, show up only on pitching days and draw a $3.7 million monthly salary.
But every sport has a few athletes annually who could fit into this scenario. A wide receiver, a cover cornerback, even a running back could play this game in the NFL. Maybe even a quarterback. Further, several teams suddenly are $10 million or more under the salary cap, which has skyrocketed to $102 million.
In the NBA, a big man, even a 3-point specialist, is often coveted down the stretch.
Baseball teams may need a starting pitcher. Or a power hitter. Or a closer.
Smoltz: “To pull that off, it really depends on the personality of the guy.”
When asked about Bonds, he said, “That’s the guy.”
Clemens parachutes in for games. He’s not a full-time Astro. That’s the part Smoltz has a problem with — and he’s not alone.
“Any time you hear somebody say, ‘I have to go to a wedding,’ or something, somebody will say, ‘OK, Roger,’ ” Smoltz said. “It’s become a running joke around the league. It takes a special person to deal with that.”
Smoltz has taken less money to stay with the Braves in the past. He figures the fact he has “passed that period of temptation” lessens the chance he would end retirement to jump into a bidding war. And he warns this whole Clemens thing could backfire.
“If Roger can come back and the Astros can come back, I don’t know if there’s a better story,” he said. “But if it doesn’t work, I don’t know if there’s a worse story.”
For better or worse, I’m thinking it’s not the last story.
Permalink | Comments (12) | Categories: Braves / MLB, Jeff Schultz
Cause: Shaq. Effect: Playoffs.
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Mark Bradley
Dwyane Wade is a splendid player who got lucky. LeBron James is a splendid player who’s doing it the hard way. Wade gets to play with Shaquille O’Neal. James doesn’t.
Over an 82-game season, O’Neal isn’t the O’Neal of five or 10 years ago. In the compact world of the postseason, he’s still the most imposing force in the sport. Some of this has to do with the utter absence of other centers in the contemporary NBA, but more of it has to do with Shaq himself.
He’s not the greatest center of all time — I’d put him fourth behind Abdul-Jabbar, Chamberlain and Russell, in that order — but he cuts an even wider swath than any of those giants did. Chamberlain and Russell had to go against one another (and Nate Thurmond and Walt Bellamy, too). Kareem had to battle Willis Reed and Bob Lanier and (briefly) Bill Walton and Artis Gilmore (still the most underrated center ever).
Once Hakeem Olajuwon wore down, Shaq has had nobody of similar size and skill to test him. (Remember, the Spurs list Tim Duncan as a power forward.) O’Neal would have been a force in any era, but in this center-less age he’s disproportionately massive both figuratively and literally.
For all his outsized presence and personality, Shaq has always been underrated as a teammate. What was Penny Hardaway after he and O’Neal dissolved their partnership? How many playoff series has Kobe Bryant won without Shaq? (Answer: None.) Shaq, meanwhile, lands in Miami and elevates another budding star in Wade, same as he’d done with Hardaway and Bryant, and once again the huge man stands on the doorstep of the NBA Finals. Cause and effect, I’d say.
Permalink | Comments (34) | Categories: Mark Bradley, Quick Hit
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